


Money Can't Buy Me Love

by headraline



Series: Detroit: Become Human Prompts [24]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: DISCORD MADE ME DO THIS, I also regret nothing, M/M, More characters to come, Sugar Daddy AU, broke college student!Connor, help I can't breathe, human!AU, i take no responsibility, rated M because I know myself, sexy CEO!Markus, the sugar daddy au I didn't know I needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-11-21 17:20:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18145148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: Connor is a broke college student struggling to make ends meet.His best friend Simon suggests a modeling gig.This is what happens.





	1. No prior experience needed

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: THE ORIGINAL IDEA ISN'T MINE.  
> MIMORU ON DISCORD SHARED [THIS](https://connorizedin2038.tumblr.com/post/183493750552/comely-expression-ethereal-gestures-and-an) TUMBLR POST AND WE PRETTY MUCH RAN AWAY WITH IT ON THE THOT CHANNEL.
> 
> I'm blaming Mimo and Court entirely for ALL of this.  
> This story starts from where the initial prompts leaves off, so if it doesn't make too much sense to you, you might wanna read the post that it comes from.
> 
> That being said, I'mma just....  
> ...Idk.  
> take my love.

Connor is just outside of the building corresponding to the address on the card. He’s got half a mind to turn tail and walk off.

This is stupid.

Sure he literally has admirers left right and center despite being the biggest teacher’s pet in the college’s nerdiest master class, but still. There _has_ to be more than that in working as a freaking model, right?

Simon doesn’t seem to think so and, well… he does need the money.

He takes a deep breath and walks through the fancy glass doors.

“Um, hello?” he tries once he’s close enough to the reception desk, “I am here for a 1:45 appointment?”

He hates that it comes out as a question, but this place is freaking unreal. There’s shitloads of glass everywhere, the stairs towards the offices look like they’re made out of marble, and the receptionist alone already looks more like a prince than a clerk, in his impeccable grey suit.

“Name?”

He blinks. “Uh— what?”

“Your name, so I can find you on the schedule?”

Right. God, he’s an idiot. He clears his voice and tries not to be too self-conscious of his college jacket and worn jeans. “O-of course. Connor. A-Anderson. Um, Connor Anderson.”

This is already a disaster.

The receptionist, bless his heart, just smiles kindly at him. “That’s perfect… yep, there you are.” He taps away on his keyboard for a few seconds, before pointing him towards the direction he needs to go in: “Okay, you have to go through that door, first floor, third door to your right. I’ll open this for you.”

“Uh, thank you…” Connor attempts a smile while he repeats the directions over and over in his head.

The receptionist pushes a button and the set of opaque glass doors leading to the stairs opens. “Good luck!”

At least it seems like a friendly enough environment –God knows the stereotypes around modelling agencies are the stuff of nightmares.

He finds the right door easily enough, it gets opened for him almost immediately after knocking and there’s two more impossibly beautiful people waiting.

“You must be Connor! Hello, I’m Kara, the HR manager, and this is Josh, our chief photographer.” The petite lady with the platinum hair greets him with yet another friendly smile and ushers him inside.

There’s a desk with a couple chairs on one side, a white wall with a stool in front of it on the opposite, and a tripod with a very expensive looking camera in front of it, plus a couple of those white reverse umbrellas at each side.

Connor starts to wonder whether this all is to lull him into a false sense of security of sorts, and everybody will turn into an asshole once he’s officially a wageslave. He tries to brush off the offending thought and flashes her his best smile.

“Hello. Yes, my name is Connor.”

“Nice to meet you, Connor!” Kara says cheerfully, directing him towards the middle of the room to stand, “I’m so sorry this is going to feel a bit rushed, but we really need an extra set of hands and we need it fast… is it okay for Josh to take a few pictures, regular front and profile?”

“You make it sound like a mugshot…” he jokes, internally cringing because goddamn his stupid mind always going back to criminology as a safe space.

For what it’s worth, he does get a chuckle from the other two.

“It’s kinda like that.” The photographer, Josh, concedes, lining up to take the first shot, “It’s okay, just don’t look at the camera if it makes you uncomfortable, stare at a fixed spot past my head.”

The advice does help, and Connor feels a little of the tension from his shoulders relax slightly as Josh clicks away. The profile is even easier, because he can stare at the window and pretend the camera is not there at all.

With those out of the way, they begin the actual interview.

“Do you have any previous experience with modeling?”

“Well, not really.”

Kara seems to have expected the reply, and just rifles to her papers as they speak. “You’re a college student, right?”

“Correct. I’m currently doing my master in criminology, and…” and student loans are enough of a thorn in his side that he’d consider all and any jobs to lighten the load a little bit. “And I thought I’d get some work experience in the meantime.”

“You made an interesting choice, that’s for sure…” she doesn’t hide a chuckle, and Connor already feels like an idiot, but there isn’t any bite to it and she carries on: “So… what made you apply?”

 _Whatever you do, don’t say you just need the money._ “Well. Um… A good friend told me the advert was out and he suggested it to me… and I thought it would be… interesting to try.”

She just nods at that, writing something on one of the margins and making Connor progressively more nervous. Josh steps out, apparently to go and print the pictures already, which is probably a good sign, but he still feels kind of like he wants to throw up.

“I will be sincere with you, the opening we have is on a fixed term, part-time contract.” Kara says while they wait, “That means you’d be doing no more than 20 hours a week, 24 tops, on a gig-to-gig basis. Would that work for you?”

“Yes! I— I mean, of course…” Only 20 hours means it will be more than manageable enough to fit through his schedule and not affect his studies too much.

“Okay. Base salary at entry level part-time is $425 per week, but you obviously have a chance to grow…”

Base salary at entry level is _what?_

Now Connor _really_ hopes he’ll get the position. That’s quite a decent salary considering the hours. He doesn’t really know what to say without making an ass out of himself, so he just smiles and nods.

Just then, Josh comes back and says something to Kara. She smiles and turns back to Connor:

“As I’ve told you, we’re on a bit of a tight schedule, so we’re going to do the short-listing fast… our boss liked your pictures and would like to have us take a few more –a full-figure one and a half-body one, if you’d be okay with it?” it’s not at all an unreasonable request, but Connor hesitates in his confusion.

He didn’t think it would be this easy.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I promise you the pictures will be destroyed in the event that we don’t take you.” Kara assures, mistaking his puzzlement for worry, “I can release a written agreement for you, if that’s a concern…”

“Oh no, no! I mean, thank you….” Connor scrambles to reassure Kara he wasn’t doubting their professionalism, but it’s good to know they’re big on respecting the rules, “I was just surprised.”

She gives him a gentle smile. “Like I said… we’re a bit pressed for time. And you’ve got the right looks, lack of experience should not be much of a problem.”

The next few moments are a bit awkward, with Josh trying to get him to do a _relaxed_ pose when he’s anything but. Eventually, the photographer takes pity on him and goes for an old-school tactic:

“Okay, do me a favor. Close your eyes.” He suggests. “Pretend I’m not here, take a few breaths. And then, when I call your name, open them. That alright?”

Connor thinks it’s fifteen different kinds of stupid, but it’s not like he has any better ideas. So he closes his eyes, and tries thinking about something else. A few seconds pass and he’s just revising legislations in his head like the nerd he is, until he hears it.

“Hey, Connor!”

He opens his eyes, and click-click-click goes the shutter.

“Perfect, that’s exactly what I needed!” Josh adjusts the lens and zoom a bit, while Connor is still trying to piece together what just happened, and there’s a few more clicks.

Well.

Apparently, it is that easy.

“Thank you so much for your time, Connor.” Kara’s cheerful voice brings him back to attention, “We’ll make arrangement and get in contact with you in the next 48 hours!”

“Okay, um… I’ll look forward to it!”

Josh leads him out; and just before they go through the door the photographer gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, man. In my professional opinion: the camera already loves you. You got this.”

That’s… certainly encouraging to hear, not that Connor actually believes he already has the position in the bag. After all, 48 hours is plenty of time to second-guess himself and feel incredibly stupid.

 

That is, until Thursday rolls along and with it an email from Jericho Modeling Industry’s HR department, complete with two attachments: one is a form to print out, fill in and bring along for his first day, and the other being a privacy agreement to read through. The email also asks for him to reply with his height, weight and basic measurements –chest, waist, hips, sleeve and inseam.

Connor has to google what an inseam is, and wonders why he couldn’t have just written what size he generally wears.

“See? I knew you would get it.” Simon is proud of him, and even North encourages it:

“Hey, at least you’ll finally put those pretty-boy looks of yours to use!” She ruffles his hair and quickly runs out of grabbing range, crossing the dorm room to where Connor’s closet is. “Now, you need an outfit to make a good impression…”

“I don’t really think it will matter, North… they’ll have me change clothes regardless…” he says, remaining where he is, half-slumped on his mattress with his psychology textbook in front of him, but she’s clearly having none of it.

Rifling through his admittedly limited selection of clothing, North grabs a pair of black jeans that looks reasonably new and the button-up he always wears when he wants to look ‘professional’ –he had planned to wear it at the interview, but he got the call last minute and was just out of a lecture.

“Nonsense!” she says, “You’re going to a _modeling_ job. It means there’ll be models. Not only it’s a chance to make a good bit of extra cash, it’s also a chance to finally get you laid.”

…Oh, North.

Connor shakes his head with a sigh. “I swear to God, you worry about my sex life more than I do!”

“Well you would have already turned into a hermit if it wasn’t for your favorite wing-woman!”

‘Favorite’ depending on who you asked. Connor glances to Simon for help, but the traitorous blond only has five words for him:

“She’s not wrong, you know?”

“ _Et tu_ , Simon?”

He really thinks they’re both making a tempest in a teacup, he’s just gonna show up for work, sit there and look pretty while trying not to fuck up too much, and get home; but they seem to be having fun with all the possibilities so he just lets them talk.

 

The day of the shoot comes, and by 8 o’ clock, bright and early, Connor is back at the agency building. The receptionist recognizes him and greets him warmly.

“Connor! Hello!” he says, waving him over to the desk, “Do you have your entry forms with you?”

Forms. Right. He digs in his backpack and gets the form out, glad that he’s an organized person, if anything. “Sure, here they are.”

“Perfect! I have a temporary keycard for you, but they should have a permanent one for you within a week!”

Connor kind of envies how effortlessly happy and cheerful this guy sounds. It’s almost slightly creepy.

“Okay…”

“The studio for today is on the third floor. It’s entirely made of photo studios, just look for door number 8!”

“Third floor, door 8. Got it.” Connor smiles at the guy despite himself, feeling a bit like a baby duckling moving his first steps when he swipes his brand new keycard.

Studio 8 is relatively easy to find, Connor tries the keycard and it works.

It’s bigger than he thought it would be, there’s an entire area that will obviously be for the shoot, a bunch of equipment all around, and a door on the opposite wall with a “Changing Rooms” sign over it.

Josh is there, which makes him feel a bit less anxious because it’s a familiar face.

“Hey, you made it alright!”

“Am I late?” Connor doesn’t think he will stop being a nervous wreck until after he’s told he didn’t fuck up.

Josh just shakes his head and smiles at him. “Not at all! Go into the changing rooms, one of our stylists will pick an outfit for you and do a little bit of make-up, we’re just waiting for a couple more people and then we can start the shoot!”

As he passes through the door, he sees a beautiful blonde girl already in the women’s changing rooms, with someone in front of her applying some powder that she honestly didn’t need, in Connor’s humble opinion, but work is work.

Waiting for him in the men’s changing room there’s a guy dressed in white and bordeaux, with what Connor guesses is a man-bun –and he has to bite his lips at the thought of what North would have to say about it.

“Connor, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

The man just gives him an uncomfortably long once-over, before nodding his head twice. “Yes. Perfect. I’m thinking monochrome black for your first shoot, yes?”

“Sure…” Connor barely has time to speak that the other is already rummaging through the rack of very expensive looking clothes at their disposal. “May I know who I’m speaking to?”

The stylist was already halfway to draping a shirt against Connor’s chest to check if it matched his complexion when he registers the question.

“Right, sorry, silly me!” he chuckles and just goes back to the rack for more, “The name’s Elijah, I’ll be your fairy godmother for the day.”

Well, at least he seems to be enjoying himself. Connor supposes it’s like the saying goes –do something you love and you won’t work a day in your life. Though not really that accurate, he supposes that it does make life more bearable to have a profession you actually _want_ to do.

Elijah is a strange person, but overall pleasant enough— he makes light conversation while picking Connor’s [outfit](https://assets.vogue.com/photos/56a3d985d10568251e5224e4/master/pass/_HER0683.jpg), consisting of black dress pants, black button up, black shoes, black leather jacket.

“Um… I’m normally a 40S…” he mentions, thinking there’s a mistake when he sees the size.

The stylist raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you often need to wear a belt?”

“Yeah? Is that a bad thing?”

“Not at all, it just means you’re actually a 38L.” Elijah just chuckles and pats one of Connor’s cheeks, “It’s okay, plenty of men wear the wrong size for years before noticing.”

Connor did not know that. But it _would_ explain why dress pants usually look slightly baggy and overall like potato sacks on him. He doesn’t simply have a flat ass like North says; he’s been buying the wrong size! “How did you notice that with just a look?”

More knowing laughter. “It is my job, dear boy.”

That is fair enough, Connor supposes. He lets the stylist mess about with his hair a bit, then he sits through applications of a small quantity of foundation, then powder pact, then brown eyeshadow and mascara –that one proves slightly challenging as he can’t seem to stop blinking on the first few attempts, but it eventually turns out okay.

“Hm… wait. You need a little color.” Just before releasing him, Elijah decides to actually break the monochrome scheme and grabs a dark red, printed 90x90 bandana, folding it in a way Connor would not be able to replicate and then wrapping it around his neck.

One thing above all others catches Connor’s attention. “Is this made of silk?”

“Washed silk, but yes.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A higher softness to the touch and about a hundred bucks.”

The carelessness with which Elijah suddenly makes him aware of how expensive all of this stuff must be suddenly makes Connor afraid to move in his getup. The stylist must see it in his face, because his amusement only grows.

“Hey. It’s fine. We have these clothes in concession and they’re insured.” He assures with the air of someone who gave this talk plenty of times before, “There’s nothing you can do that cannot be remedied to, I promise.”

He finally steps out of the changing rooms and back into the photoshoot area, where Josh is waiting for him with a big grin on his face.

“Nice. Very, very nice.” He comments, circling around Connor once, “Come, I want you to meet our other two models for the shoot… Connor these are Chloe and Luther. Guys, this is Connor, he’s starting as a temp.”

No one seems to be in a hurry to start, but Connor supposes it’s nice of Josh to leave them to get acquainted a bit before the shoot. There’s even music playing from someone’s laptop. It’s nice.

Connor learns that Chloe is 25 and has been with the company almost five years already –she always wanted to be a model, and after a few hit and miss gigs was delighted to get a call back from Jericho; while Luther is older than both of them, and has been the company’s face for _very tall_ and _very broad_ sizes for a while now. Not surprising, considering that the man could easily be 7ft tall.

Maybe. Connor doesn’t have a measuring tape on hand.

He glances up just in time to notice Josh snap a few warm-up shots of the three of them just sitting around and chatting, and it rips a smile from his face despite himself: he can understand the reasoning behind it: if he gets them used to the clicking of the shutter while there’s nothing at stake, so to speak, they’ll be less nervous when the time to pose actually comes.

That same moment also just happens to be when the last person they were expecting arrives –Connor hears the ‘beep’ of a keycard opening the door and his jaw almost drops.

The man who just entered the room might as well be the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen. Tall, muscular, the faintest hint of stubble complimenting his buzz cut nicely, and the forest green [linen suit](http://www.menssuitstips.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Green-Men-Suits-29.jpg) looks made for the exact purpose of accentuating his every shape.

Just. Wow.

Connor actually wonders what the hell they hired _him_ for, if this guy is here.

“Sorry I’m late, Josh. Traffic was dreadful and I regret ever getting a car in the first place.” Even the stranger’s voice is nothing short of heavenly once he speaks, but what actually renders Connor fully speechless is the eyes: the newcomer has finally lifted his head, and while his left eye is almost the same green as his suit, the other eye appears to be light blue.

The scar splitting the stranger’s right eyebrow down the middle suggests some kind of physical trauma as a cause for discoloration, rather than genetic heterochromia.

…Damn it, is he really analyzing these people right now?

His brain has a hard time shutting off.

“Hey Markus.” Josh greets, extending a hand to grasp the one offered, “Don’t worry; I’ve already started warming up. Is the selection ok?”

“For the clothes yes, but we need more accessories for the catalog shots.”

_Oh, sweet mother of God._

Finally, Connor’s brain connects the pieces: Markus Manfred –the company’s elusive CEO whose name was on the card Simon gave him. At the time, Markus happened to be caught up in a meeting so he spoke to a secretary to set up the interview, but even if he had spoken to the CEO in person Connor would have never expected him to be so… so…

Overwhelmingly drop-dead gorgeous.

It does make sense for the owner of a modeling agency to maintain a certain standard of beauty themselves, but this is ridiculous. A small pinch behind his left arm startles him into turning to his left.

Chloe is smiling at him. “Sorry about that. You were staring.” She whispers apologetically, with a subtle nod in the direction of where Josh is still speaking to Markus behind the camera.

He is more thankful than he cares to admit, especially when Josh claps his hands loudly and declares the official start of the shoot.

They take a few pictures of all three of them, adjusting the lights every now and then, turning on a fan to get a wind effect, and then turning it back off. Luther does a few solo shots, then there are a few pictures with Connor and Chloe only, and before they know it an hour and a half already passed.

Connor’s heart was in his throat the whole time, because why would the CEO be supervising a random photoshoot? Not that it’s bad to have a more hands-on approach and check in with his employees but… doesn’t he realize that newly hired, inexperienced models might _freak the fuck out_???

But maybe he’s overviewing things precisely because there’s new staff –maybe he’s here to give pointers and make sure everything goes as smoothly as he possibly can. Still, someone could have _warned_ him.

“Alright everyone, take 10!” Josh suddenly calls, “Chloe, get to the dressing room, we’re doing the catalog pictures for the [Gambade long](https://vestiairecollective.imgix.net/produit/6822584-6_1.jpg). Connor, you too, they have some [bracelets](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/40/a2/2b/40a22be5a17cd7d06de16ba709696201.jpg) for you to wear.”

If the price difference between scarves already was in the hundreds, Connor shudders to think about jewelry.

Elijah seems perfectly calm as the selects and places the accessories around his left wrist –though he _is_ wearing velvet gloves to handle them.

“Do I even want to know how much this stuff is worth?”

Elijah chuckles. “Probably not.” He says, once he’s carefully fastened the last one, “The Chaine d’Ancre alone is… well, don’t you worry about that. Go.”

Connor steps back on set very mindful of his left arm, walking as if it could literally spontaneously catch fire. Josh is up front, arranging Chloe’s hair on her shoulders this or that way for the picture –the gold necklace she’s wearing has charms scattered about and loops into itself, cascading down the décolleté of her pretty dress with a pendant at the end.

She looks very much at ease with it, smiling and making conversation with the chief photographer –that’s probably what it means to have experience. Connor is standing here like an idiot, holding his arm slightly out as if the bracelets could grow teeth and bite him.

“You ok?”

“Gah!”

He will deny ever jumping like that. It’s a good thing North is not here to see him act like a complete idiot.

Less than three feet to his right, there’s none other than Markus Manfred himself, hands in his pockets, smiling like _he’s_ the one in front of a camera.

“Relax. We don’t bite here. Well, not without consent.” The deep chuckle that follows fizzles out slightly when it’s only met with more confusion and blinking. “Um. That was meant to be a joke. If anyone harasses you, please report it to—”

“No! I mean, I get it!” Connor is already berating himself for catching on way too late, but still lets out a nervous little chuckle, trying not to focus on how much of a disaster this meeting already is. “I’m just— not used to… this.” He gestures to the bracelets he’s wearing with his free hand. “I’m trying not to scratch them or damage them.”

“Ah.” Well, if anything, at least the unfairly handsome CEO seems amused at his stupidity. God, Connor is _so_ screwed. And not in the fun way. “That’s very diligent of you, but you’ll get a cramp in your arm if you keep holding it out like that. It’s okay, I promise.”

That sounds unexpectedly soothing. Be it the velvety tone of Markus’ voice, his encouraging expression, or the fact that the man’s charms are undeniably distracting; some of the tension leaves his shoulder.

Markus seems pleased.

“There, much better. Catalog pieces are almost never for sale, and if they do go, they go at reduced prices because they’re expected to have a little bit of wear.”

That makes so much more sense! If only they had told him _that_ before!

“Okay.” Connor says, exhaling loudly and trying to mirror the other’s smile. “Thanks, Mr. Manfred.”

“Oh God, please no.” the CEO literally makes a face at that. “It’s just Markus, really. I refuse to feel _that_ old.”

“I’m sorry! I meant—”

“Hey, it’s _fine._ ” Markus cuts him off mid-apology, raising a hand, “I know what you meant. Really. You don’t have to second guess every word you say just because it’s your first day. No one here will get mad at you for not knowing things, and _absolutely no one_ here is worth any more than you are as a person. You’re okay. And you’re doing okay.”

That’s a refreshing thing to hear. Maybe Connor was wrong to think up nightmare scenarios with snobby models and angry managers.

He tries and lets himself relax in the shoulders. “I’ll keep that in mind… Markus.”

“Good. Everything will be alright.” Markus is still smiling, and not for the first time Connor thinks _he_ should be the model. “Now go, let’s see those bracelets shine.”

He goes to sit on the stool in the middle of the set, and Josh walks up to him to put him in position.

“So… at what point does this stop being weird?”

Josh tries not to chuckle too much at him, while gently lifting Connor’s left arm to make him grasp at the opposite shoulder, giving a nice angle to the accessories and a good shine to  the shot. Plus, the simple yellow gold band accentuates Connor’s eye color well, while the two white ones contrast the darkness of his hair. Markus chose well.

“Generally in a couple of months.” He answers, “Or when we start doing shoots at hours that are too ungodly to worry about keeping up a front.”

“Right…”

“Look, if you’re nervous about Markus watching, you don’t have to be.” Josh eventually breaks and tells him: “He’s only here because this client has been a nightmare, demanding changes over and over, then suddenly they wanted a third model and it’s been hard on everyone. But he’s a great guy, not scary at all.”

“Sorry, I’ll try to be less skittish.”

Josh nods at him. “It’s okay. That you worried at all means that you care about doing a good job. Which is admirable.”

The rest of the shoot proceeds without incident, and by quarter past twelve Connor is back in his own clothes and no longer worried about staining or damaging expensive outfits or accessories. Markus had stepped out at some point, but when Connor comes out of the changing room the CEO is back and there’s a small shopping bag on Josh’s work table.

Markus is chatting amiably with Chloe and Luther, but turns towards him –possibly at the sound of the door opening.

“Connor, hey!” he steps back to the table and pulls a couple bottles from the bag. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I took the liberty of ordering our usual for everyone…”

Upon closer inspection, the bag is mainly soft drinks and bottles of flavored water, no doubt brought for the models and staff as a thanks for a job well done for such a demanding client. There’s also a box of [donuts](https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0421/0685/products/image_57b288c8-ccc8-4289-b2cb-5e3407a17e83_1024x1024.jpg?v=1547643252), from which Josh has already taken one, holding it in his mouth as he downloads all the files from the camera to his computer.

Everyone, from the people tidying up the set and storing the equipment to the stylists, seems to find this perfectly normal.

It’s very likely that Markus didn’t go to buy snacks himself and rather had someone order in, instead, but it stands to fact that it’s still a nice thing to do for your employees. Hesitantly, Connor accepts the bottle of apple flavored water from Markus’ outstretched hand with what he hopes is a courteous nod of thanks.

The unprompted kindness makes him think of Simon, and his brain gives him a metaphorical kick in the head: of course Markus would be a nice person! Simon is possibly the kindest guy Connor knows; he wouldn’t be friends with your run-of-the-mill asshole CEO!

It all falls into place now.

Connor would almost be mad at his blond friend for keeping his friendship with such an unbelievably hot guy a secret, but he doesn’t have time to fool himself like that; Markus is obviously very much out of his league. Not to mention his boss.

There will be no inappropriate thoughts about this whatsoever.

None.

I mean it, brain.

He exhales slowly and just takes a sip of his fancy water.

An annoying beeping sound distracts him from his thoughts, and Markus mutters a curse as he fishes his cellphone out of his pocket.

“Guys, I have to go, but good work today!” he calls out to… everyone, pretty much, “Josh can I count on you to have the drafts done by tonight?” the photographer still has a mouthful of donut to work with, so he just raises a thumbs-up, to which Markus grins and carries on. “Connor, you’re pretty much good to go, if you can just stay until one to have your measurements taken properly and a few generic shots for your portfolio, that would be amazing, but if you have class we can arrange it for later.”

It’s impressive that a CEO of such a big agency would keep track of even the newest employee’s schedule –Connor is starting to see how everyone is so happy to be working here. If this is the everyday atmosphere, it’s basically a dream.

“No, I’m free until two p.m. today.”

“Amazing, then I’ll leave you in capable hands. When you’re done, stop by reception again and they should have your weekly rota for this month.” Markus explains, “If you need to make any changes to it, just send an email to Kara and she’ll have someone take care of it. Thank you for today!”

“Of course… uh, thank _you_ for having me here!”

He really hopes that didn’t sound too stupid.

Considering he’s lived up to 23 convinced he was one size only to discover he was wrong, Connor is more than happy to complete the 5-hour shift and let Elijah take all his measurements, up to neck circumference, back width and even the size of his head.

The stylist explains that most big names do not do bespoke and do have a standard size for the fashion shows, but having all the models’ sizes on hand makes it easier for them to make temporary alterations, if needed –Connor is still firmly convinced that all of this is way too fancy for his blood, but everyone told him he did great, and Chloe and Luther are very nice to him, so when one p.m. rolls around he walks to his bicycle feeling much better than he did in the morning.

Inevitably, once he comes back from his afternoon classes, Simon wants to know _everything_.

He tries to keep his tale to a minimum, but Simon is onto him faster than any bloodhound:

“Was Markus there?” he asks after Connor’s rather sterile ‘it went well’, “Did you meet him?”

“He’s the CEO, why would he be there for a random shoot?” the pitch and speed of that answer is all wrong, if Connor was a suspect right now he’d be busted so fast. “There was absolutely no need…”

“He was, wasn’t he?”

They hold each other’s gaze for about five seconds.

“Not _one_ word to North.”

Simon positively loses it. He knows Markus very well –his older brother, Daniel, went to school with Markus, and little old him used to have the biggest crush on the art student that always hung out with Danny.

Markus never held it against him, and never made Simon feel bad about it. When he eventually grew out of his teenage crush, Markus was already well on his way of becoming one of the youngest people to appear on a Forbes list, and they were still good friends.

Either way, he can definitely see why Connor would be embarrassed to even talk about meeting someone like that, so he nods and gives his word.

“If you manage to make friends with him, ask him about his scar.” He mentions, still kind of laughing, “I swear I must have asked him about a dozen times and got a dozen different stories.”

“Let’s be real, Simon, it’s unlikely I’ll even get to see him again.”

“Aren’t you the one who says that, statistically speaking, there’s always a chance for unlikely events to take place?”

“This is different.” Connor shakes his head with a sigh and starts rummaging in his backpack. Maybe with the money from this gig he will actually be able to buy one that doesn’t start tearing at the corners within six months. “I’ve got to study now.”

“Gotcha. I’ll dig you out of your books when it’s time for dinner.” Simon leaves him to his devices for the time being, but makes a mental note to remember this conversation.

Smells like potential for an ‘I told you so’.

 

Among the appointments for photoshoots, Connor’s timetable also contemplates doing some ‘homework’: he literally has to either read high fashion magazines or wander around the city and into designer brand stores, to _familiarize himself with the collections he will model for_.

He tried picking up one of the massive Vogue catalogs that were there in the agency building, but his eyes started to spin within the first 15 pages. Seeing him struggle, the supervisor who was there with him suggested a route to take.

Which is how Connor finds himself with a timesheet to fill in, with store names neatly arranged in a column, each with a box to tick and a space by it to put down the time of his visit and a few keywords if he so desires.

The first thing he discovers is that most of these companies are called ‘super-brands’ in the business, whether it’s because of sheer volume of income or due to massive egos at play he isn’t sure he wants to know. He’s already visited three different places by lunch time, each one more expensive than the other –the last one had a bag on display which, Connor is pretty sure, costs the equivalent to the down payment for a _house_.

This is surreal.

Well. Store number four it is.

“What am I even doing here…” he mumbles to himself, eyeing the huge-ass chandelier as if it could come crashing down on him any second. This is more than just a clothing store; it looks like a freaking palace. There are couches, and little separate showrooms for jewelry and stuff, the people waiting are being served _champagne_ to pass the time until an attendant can come to them.

Oh _God_ is that Markus?! No, it can’t be—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

The sales assistant who magically appears by his side nearly makes Connor jump out of his skin.

“Yes! Yes, of course… um…” he swallows down his nervousness, and gestures vaguely to the closest mannequin, “Is this the latest collection?”

He is very thankful for whoever thought to include an assortment of useful questions to ask on the back of the timesheet. Contrary to the people in the previous stores, though, who have been very nice and helpful so far, this particular sales assistant looks at him with an expression of disdain.

“I don’t think this would fit you, sir.”

Connor is taken aback, not only by the complete non-sequitur, but also by the sudden hostility. He becomes instantly defensive: “I didn’t ask you if you think it would fit me, I asked what collection it is.”

Seemingly attracted by his protest, another sales assistant comes along and addresses him loud enough for other patrons to hear: “Terribly sorry, sir, but I don’t think we have anything for someone like you on display.”

“Excuse me?” Connor is, for lack of a better word, flabbergasted. There are seriously people like this, in 2019? Wow. He was about to make probably a very stupid decision and talk back to these two assholes, but someone tapping his elbow lightly distracts him and prevents him from causing a scene.

“There you are! I was waiting for a while, you know.”

Oh, holy crap, it _is_ Markus. He looks practically like royalty in his [light blue suit](https://www.rw-co.com/on/demandware.static/-/Sites-Rwco-master-catalog/default/dwe26526f5/images/xlarge/rwco_420554_454_0.jpg) –it would probably look hideous on anybody else, but he makes it work so well. Connor has to blink himself out of his stupor when his mind registers that people around him are still talking.

“—so sorry, Mr. Manfred! He came in looking like that, and we thought—”

“And you thought that was enough of an excuse to treat him any less well than a regular customer?” oh, _wow_. Josh said Markus isn’t scary at all, but that tone of voice just put the fear of God into both store clerks before them.

“We didn’t know he was with you—”

“It shouldn’t have mattered.” Markus interrupts the one who looks like the senior employee, “Anyone who comes into the store is a potential buyer, and a little _politeness_ goes a long way into making a sale. We’ll sit down and wait for a full fitting, but make sure to get someone _else_ to attend to us. Someone who actually knows how to approach people in a kind and friendly manner.”

Almost in a daze, Connor finds himself being led to one of those fancy couches and gets a flute of champagne nudged into his hands.

“Here. You probably need it, after what those assholes said to you.”

“I— what?” Connor has to make an effort to rewind the events in his mind: the sales assistants were being snooty at him, probably because of his quite obvious ‘broke college student’ look, and Markus decided to come to his rescue and pretend that he was expected here in the first place, to get him out of the uncomfortable situation _and_ make him save face.

“Are you alright?”

Awfully nice, but Connor is pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to afford a pair of socks from this place, nevermind a full suit.

“I… thank you for intervening, but…” he might as well say it. “I can’t afford any of this stuff.”

Markus shakes his head. “Don’t worry about any of that. You’re one of my employees, and you represent the company as much as I do.” He waves a hand dismissively in the mannequins’ direction, “People should do well to treat you as they would treat me. Most of the brands we work with are nice, but sometimes people get that ‘luxury’ mentality… it’s not pretty.”

To say the least. Reviewing the conversation in his mind, Connor fixates on the fact that Markus specifically requested for a different sales assistant to come help them. They probably work on commission in this place. Which meant captain snooty-pants over there just lost a buttload of money.

What a magnificent dick move. There’s clearly more layers to Markus than his gentle, benevolent persona.

It brings a smile to Connor’s face.

“There. Now the world is good again.”

Connor falls from the clouds. “Pardon?”

“Ah, sorry. It’s just that smiling looks much better on you than worry and confusion.”

What kind of a thing to say is that?! Connor doesn’t really have the time to properly process the compliment, because they get approached by a bubbly lady with her hair tied up in a bun.

“Hello, gentlemen, my name is Lauren and I will be your assistant for today! Are we ready to try on some suits?”

Despite himself, Connor feels self-conscious. “Hi Lauren… you’re the one who will be nice to me?”

She titters lightly but nods. “Of course I will!” She assures, “Again, I must apologize a million times for my colleague’s behavior, he didn’t know any better.”

“Thank you, Lauren.” Markus intercepts, standing up and gesturing for Connor to do the same. “Connor here is the newest talent in my agency, and we’re going to need a full fit for him. I was thinking of starting with a standard navy, what do you think?”

Lauren gives Connor a thoughtful once over and nods. “Oh, most definitely. I’m thinking a classic dark navy with red accents, three piece and a nice white shirt?”

It seems to be the right answer for Markus, because he regales her with a bright grin.

“Sounds amazing. Lead the way.”

They get escorted to a private dressing room, outside of which there’s yet another fancy couch where Markus is made to sit, while Connor gets ushered into the changing cubicle itself –which is nearly as big as his dorm bathroom.

Lauren brings a bunch of things for him to try, always lively, friendly and never once making assumptions about him. Markus approves most of what he’s shown, only occasionally giving pointers about this or that color, but at some point he has to leave.

“Connor? I— oh, sorry.” He opened the cabin door without thinking and caught Connor partway to removing shirt number five. “I need to go, I have a meeting with the store director of this place, but I’ll be back in half an hour. Feel free to select whichever suit you prefer and however many things you like. Okay?”

It’s probably stupid, they’re both men, but Connor did jump a little when he heard the door open, and he’s now subtly facing away from Markus while his shirt is unbuttoned. The other seems to be mercifully looking at a fixed point in the opposite wall.

“Is it really okay?”

“It is. Think of it as part of your homework for the schedule.” Markus’ voice isn’t leaving any room for doubt, so Connor gives in and nods.

Who knows, maybe it’s included in some kind of company expense scheme.

He’ll have to make sure to ask later. He is too swept up in the moment to realize that on the wall opposite to him there’s a big fat mirror.

Forty-five minutes later, Connor has picked out a nice navy suit with a dark red tie, dark red pocket square, and a pristine white shirt. Lauren picks a pair of dark brown shoes for him, guessing the size right on the first try. She then also recommends a couple coats, several accessories and a few pairs of more casual trousers, but the fact that none of the labels carry a price is literally giving him anxiety, so he only okays one jacket, a light pink shirt to alternate with the white one, and a white tie and pocket square to match with it.

When he comes out of the changing rooms with what Lauren dubbed his ‘yes-pile’, Markus is already at the counter, patiently waiting for Lauren to put the chosen garments through.

“Is that all?” he asks, as if he was expecting much more.

Connor really doesn’t want to think about how little he must care about money for that to be the case. “I guess?”

Deciding against whatever was going on through his head, Markus shrugs and huffs out a small laughter. “I guess we’re starting small. Baby steps.”

There’s probably something to be said about the fact that Lauren doesn’t voice a price at Markus and just hands him the wireless PDQ machine instead, to which the CEO just gives a brief glance before plucking a card out of his wallet and carrying out the payment.

“Lauren, you have been an absolute delight.” He says, holding out his hand to shake the woman’s, “I’ll make sure to always ask for you whenever I return.”

Oh he’s still being petty. Connor lowkey loves it, and he has to hold back a snort of laughter.

Once more, he gets brought out of his inner thoughts by a polite tap on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I said, how many stores do you have left to visit for today?” Markus asks, nodding towards the timesheet he was just scribbling notes about his experience on.

“Ah… three, I think?”

The other gets pensive for a moment, mismatched eyes losing themselves in empty space, before he seems to reach some sort of conclusion: “Go back into the changing rooms and wear your suit. I’m accompanying you for the rest of the journey.”

 

The next few hours pass in a flurry of fancy places and bright light. Once Markus is at his side everyone is twice as happy to help him –though Connor can spot more than a few genuinely nice people– and he gets his questions answered and then some.

He learns about the latest trends for men, what colors have been going the past season and which ones are expected to do well in the next, which brand is the highest selling in which sector, and so forth and so on.

All things he expected to do by himself.

What he didn’t expect, though, was to eventually go back to his dorms with _far_ more bags than the ones from that one first purchase that was meant to teach snooty fashion assholes a lesson.

“Wow, _someone_ has been shopping.” Simon comments, when he sees him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Simon, you think I can afford this crap?” he asks, making a point of showing one of the logos on the shopping bags, “This is just… company stuff.”

His blonde friend chuckles. “See? I told you it would be a nice gig. Let’s see the haul!”

They end up going through the purchases one by one –at some point during the impromptu runway, North also shows up and makes a few choice comments, until a card tumbles out of a bag of shirts.

“What’s this?”

“Let me see that!” Connor is pretty quick to take it from her hands, wondering whether it was a receipt, but no.

It’s just another of Markus’ business cards, but on the other side, that’s normally blank, there’s a message.

 

_If you encounter any problems on your next run, call this number._

_I’ll try to come personally, but if I can’t, I’ll send someone_

_to let people know exactly who they’re messing with._

_Stay safe,_

_M._

 

It’s undoubtedly a very kind thing to do, but Connor can’t help wondering:

What the hell is he getting himself into?

 

 


	2. Spontaneous kindness and tentative acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you sure this guy isn’t just trying to become your sugar daddy?”
> 
> “My _what?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to get this done yesterday, but my left arm started hurting after eight and still kinda hurts now.
> 
> I'mm get some lunch and rest for a bit.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! ♥ ♥ ♥

With his new job taking only half a day and only for four days a week, Connor can finally have some piece of mind— it’s not the best pay in the world, but it’s decent pay and it keeps him afloat while he tries to graduate.

Plus, it comes with a truckload of benefits: he can bring his books with him to revise during breaks, he gets free snacks and no one cares if he brings them home with him rather than eating them straight away, and anyone he’s paired with is usually pretty nice.

He also learned from Chloe that some of the articles they wear for shoots are authorized to go to a yearly company auction once they’re twice out of season, and can be bought for as little as 1/10th of the original price. Granted, that would still be at least a hundred dollars for something originally worth a thousand, but there is _some_ appeal to it.

It’s the type of ‘too good to be true’ situation that drove Connor to do a background check on Markus and all of his staff. Hank didn’t exactly approve of his son using his sources, but didn’t exactly stop him either.

“Nothing!” he exclaims eventually with a frustrated huff, “Squeaky clean!”

From the opposite side of the room, Simon chuckles. “Are you done being a paranoid idiot?” he asks, “I’m right here, if you wanna know anything about Markus you can just ask me, you know?”

“No, you’re his good friend, you’d be biased!”

It only makes Simon laugh more. Connor is lying on his side on his bed, laptop perched on top of two textbooks, scrolling maniacally through every bit of information he found.

Taking pity on his roommate, Simon points out one detail: “If you want something really merciless, you can always see what Forbes had to say about him.”

“That’s… actually not a bad idea.” All it takes is a few clicks –Markus is not overwhelmingly famous, not outside the field, but Connor still finds what he needs easily enough.

It happens all the time in the fashion industry: everybody knows Victoria’s Secret and would recognize the pretty ‘angels’ anytime, but very few people would be able to point out who Barbara Palvin is. For the people behind the scenes of such production it’s even easier to stay anonymous, because no one really cares about what happens on the other side, so long as things gets sold and collections come out.

To someone as eye-catching and yet as reserved as Markus, Connor supposes it’s a blessing.

“There it is!” he exclaims once he finds the article that featured Markus. “Huh, it’s from only three years ago… let’s see… Markus Manfred, age 28— wait so he’s what, only 31?”

Simon looks confused as to why Connor looks baffled. “No, I don’t think he turned 31 yet. Why? Does he look older?”

Connor sputters at the very idea, blinking repeatedly to get his thoughts in order. “Well, no, but…”

More laughter leads him to believe Simon knows more than he lets on. “Why don’t you just keep reading?”

“Blah, blah… wealthy father… problematic brother… car accident, not wanting to weigh on his family’s shoulders—” He stops short at that. Recovering from a car accident is already quite the nightmare in terms of medical bills, insurance or not, adding to that a son with a troubled past going through rehab… sending a second son to college would very nearly sink the ship. He can’t help but think that it was… kinda noble of Markus, not to ask for financial help from his family to put himself through college. Thinking on how he sort of did the same with Hank, not wanting to put that big a dent on a Lieutenant’s salary, Connor can relate. “First modeling gig at 19… his eyes get him loads of attention and then—”

Having already heard the full story from the source, Simon puts both hands on his hips. “Oh no, don’t you go mute on me now!” he chastises, “Let’s hear it, what have you found out about my friend?”

Connor clears his voice. “Well… there’s a direct quote: _‘The job was fine and paid well, but I absolutely hated it at the agency. They treated us like we weren’t even human, made us work impossible hours, and there were more than a few accounts of harassment thrown around. I’ve always been a big boy so no one really messed with me, and I never witnessed anything specific, but I was aware of several workers my age who were uncomfortable at the idea of being left alone with certain members of the staff. So I set out to change that. I kept my major in visual arts, started a minor in communication and worked even harder to save up. Once I finally reached the point where money wasn’t a problem anymore, I did the one thing I could think of to make sure no one in there would ever be mistreated again… I bought the agency, and sent the rotten apples packing.’_ …This… I… wow. It says here that, according to Markus himself, the reason why Jericho is so successful is because he puts the employees’ well-being first and foremost, and everyone has a voice in the company, no matter the role.”

“And? Is it consistent with what you’ve seen?” the expectant tone in Simon’s voice tells Connor that the blond is being quite the little shit about this.

Still. He thinks back to his very first day, when the company’s CEO came to a shoot just to stick around and give pointers, to make sure the fussy client got what they wanted, and then ordered food to reward everyone for their hard work— he thinks to that one awkward joke that got immediately second-guessed and how within one breath Markus was both trying to be funny _and_ urging him, the literal newest arrival, to report any suspect behavior.

He thinks of a few days later, when Markus took time out of his schedule to prevent a couple snooty assholes from embarrassing Connor and buying him a bunch of stuff that hasn’t been requested for use yet.

Then he also thinks of Kara and Josh, and, to an extent, Elijah: people too good-looking for it to be a coincidence, and that’s when it clicks. In rebuilding a company who was full of mistreatments, Markus chose to put in key positions people who had been on the other side in the past, ex-models who know how it feels to have an irregular schedule and to be just starting out… people who could do for the next generation of models what no one ever did for them.

Closing his laptop with a huff, he gives up. He slumps backwards on his bed and covers his face with a pillow. “Okay, _fine_!!! He’s perfect!!!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _perfect_ , he has his flaws…” Simon comments pensively, “Sometimes he’ll say the stupidest things; you’d think he’s socially inept, and he can make assumptions and run with them—”

“Oh, what a terrible list of flaws for the young, handsome millionaire who cares about every single one of his employees and funds charity drives twice a year.”

Connor’s perfect monotone cuts through Simon’s objection like a well-sharpened dagger made out of sass. The blond doesn’t bother hiding his amusement.

“See? I told you he’s a great guy.”

Well, if nothing else, at least he can really stop being a paranoid idiot now.

Apparently, some rare times good things do simply happen. Who would’ve thought.

Yeesh, if he’s already this jaded and cynical before even completing his master, he’ll be worse than Hank once he actually joins the force.

Simon is right. He’s thinking too much about this. He should do some last minute revising for tomorrow’s test and then get some sleep, if any: he has a photoshoot less than an hour after that, it’s going to be a busy day.

 

In the end, he very nearly pulls an all-nighter, but the test goes well, for what it’s worth. Still, Connor is dead on his feet once he finally reaches the agency. Today’s photographer isn’t Josh, but the lady behind the lens introduces herself as Hannah and is just as kind and caring:

“Did you come straight from uni?” she asks, as he desperately tries not to let his eyes droop while Elijah tries to put make up on him.

“Well… yeah?”

“You must be exhausted.” The photographer comments, worrying her lower lip with her teeth, “Are you sure you feel up to working? I have another shoot lined up after this; we can change the timetable around a bit and let you catch a power nap…”

He tries to shake his head weakly. “I don’t wanna be a nuisance…”

Hannah puts both hands on her hips, fixing him with an almost motherly look.

“Well I don’t want this to become a habit!” she protests, “Look at you, you’re practically falling over!”

“I can still work—”

“I’m sure you can, but it wouldn’t be right of us to make you.” The photographer just gets her phone out of her pocket and the conversation apparently ends there.

Connor is not proud of it, but when he opens his eyes he realized he must’ve dozed off for a few minutes.

In the make-up chair.

“Connor? Can you hear me?” Is that… Markus? “Are you alright?”

It definitely is. Connor jolts awake instantly.

“Easy! Easy… everything’s okay.” Markus holds his hands out in front of him –once Connor blinks himself fully awake, he can see the CEO crouched down in front of him, not so close that it’d make him uncomfortable, but close enough that Markus could catch him if he flopped forward. “Do you know where you are?”

“I’m in Jericho’s changing rooms.” His voice doesn’t sound too good, but he’s just tired, really, all this fuss is embarrassing.

“Can you remember _how_ you got here?”

Oh. Markus is trying to evaluate his mental state. He must’ve been trained as a first-aider back when he was still an employee. “I cycled here for my shoot after my Foundation of Criminal Justice test.”

“Do you know the date and time?” Markus’ voice sounds less worried and more understanding –it’s the voice of someone who can relate.

“Well, hoping I haven’t passed out for days it should still be the 19th… last time I checked it was 1:45 p.m.?”

There’s a relieved expression on Markus’ face that doesn’t belong there, considering they barely know each other. “Good news. You’ve only lost about 20 minutes. Can you stand?”

“I think so…”

“Good. I’m going to lead you out of here, you’re going to tell me if you have a roommate or someone else I can notify, then I will drive you to your dorm or any other place of your choice, and you will get some rest.”

The prospect of telling his father that he pretty much collapsed at work is out of the question for Connor –Hank would immediately start telling him how stupid that is and insist that he can fully support him, which he _can’t_. Simon has classes until six p.m. so notifying him would only scare him out of lecture… which Connor doesn’t want to do.

In all of this, what comes out of his mouth is: “But what about the shoot?”

“We’ve called in the people for the next one, we’ll do that first. They’ll be happy to finish early.” Hannah assures from his other side, while to his left Markus ushers him out of the changing room.

“I don’t want to flake out of it.” He insists, because if he gives his word that he’ll do something he will do it, damn it all, but Markus just chuckles slightly at that.

“That is admirable, but you need your rest.” He says, “Let us make sure you’re ok, grab a nap, and if you feel up to it when you wake up, we’ll do an evening shoot. Sounds fair?”

It actually does. “Okay.” As soon as he lets himself relax because he made sure that other people won’t be inconvenienced because of him, Connor feels his fatigue hitting him all at once again and almost stumbles. “Sorry.”

“No apology needed. Come, let’s go through reception.”

The familiarity with which Markus navigates the building is not surprising, but the fact that he seems to know exactly what needs to be done with an overworked college student who’s falling asleep on their feet tells Connor this is not the first time something like this happens.

Thinking back to the article he read the day before with Simon, Connor wagers Markus might have _been_ in the same position as him— only, at that time, there was no one to switch shifts around for him, or even _care_.

“Is it going to be okay if I drive you, or do you prefer public transport?”

To some, it might seem a strange question, but as a criminology student Connor can immediately tell what Markus is doing: he’s handing over control of the situation to _him_ , on the off-chance that Connor wouldn’t feel safe alone in a car with Markus.

Which is very considerate, but Connor is pretty sure that, even in his sleep-deprived state, worse come to worse he’d still be able to make good on his training and knock the other the fuck out.

“The car will be fine. I’m so sorry for the bother—”

“Stop it. It’s not a bother, really.” Markus assures, leading them out of the staff entrance into the parking lot and _holy fuck_ that’s a nice car, “I know how you’re feeling right now, because I _was_ you, some ten years ago. You have nothing to apologize for.”

Connor only half-register the speech that confirms his theory, because he’s still admiring the [Maserati Alfieri](https://moneyinc.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/Maserati-Alfieri-750x418.jpg), all shiny and chrome –he’s not even that much into cars, but this is a real beauty. The inside isn’t overly tacky, just a simple, minimalistic design made to be functional and elegant, much like the owner of the car himself, Connor supposes.

He’s just thinking something along the lines of a _‘tell me what your car looks like, and I’ll tell you who you are’_ joke, but Markus has already fastened his seatbelt and moved on with the conversation:

“Let me guess… you stayed up nearly all night studying, went straight to class, and haven’t stopped to have breakfast _or_ lunch before work, have you?”

It’s uncanny how accurate the man’s intuition is. He technically grabbed a slice of toast as he rushed out early this morning, but that was more Simon yelling at him to get something to eat than anything else.

Coming to think of it, he’s freaking starving. “Um…”

Markus’ chuckle is velvety and deep; and it might just be the setting –a very handsome man driving a beautiful car, eyes focused on the road even as he makes conversation– but _wow_ Connor wonders how the heck no one snatched him up yet.

“Are you awake enough to get some food before I drop you off?”

No current partners came up in his background check, and there’s no wedding ring on Markus’ left hand, so… likely single.

Again, _how_? This man is literally his boss, and yet he’s taking time out of his schedule to make sure Connor gets proper rest, and now checking that he remembers to eat? Do people so inherently selfless actually exist?

Cynical worldview, meet your challenger: Markus Manfred.

“I’m… yeah, I can do that…”

“Good, what do you want to eat?”

“Beg pardon?” that can’t possibly mean what Connor thinks it means.

“You passed out at work because you felt the need not to disappoint my agency. I feel responsible.” Nope, apparently it means exactly what Connor thought it meant, “So. Anything, in any place. My treat. As an apology.”

The use of that particular word makes Connor smirk. “Weird, I seem to recall a man wearing your suit and looking _strikingly_ similar to you, who just a few minutes ago emphasized how no apologies were necessary.”

More of that low chuckle. Markus bites slightly at his lower lip and Connor distractedly follows the motion with his gaze— no wonder this guy was a model when he was younger, he could _still_ be a model right now.

“Okay, alright, if you’re awake enough to sass me, you’re definitely awake enough for lunch.” He declares with a certain air of finality, making a turn and plunging them in the street where all the nice places are.

Connor cannot in good conscience make a choice himself, so he lets Markus pick after he assures he has no allergy and no particular dietary requirements… which results in Markus taking the both of them to the best freaking steakhouse on the riverfront.

He is more than a little nervous. “Is this really okay?” he asks, “I really can’t even begin to think about how to repay you—”

“Then don’t.” It’s the first time Markus’ tone grows firmer than his usual easy kindness… and, Connor has to say, it’s not at all unappealing. “I’m just doing the right thing. I know your struggle and want to help. Even if it’s with something as mundane as lunch and a ride home.”

 _‘Mundane’_ he says, while the cheapest appetizers on the menu are already more expensive than a full day of groceries for Connor.

He sighs. Markus seems to know what he’s doing and the place does smell delicious. He doesn’t want to take advantage, but it’s already the third time the other has assured that it’s okay.

Fuck it. “If you say so.”

Connor doesn’t have terribly expensive tastes anyway, and he keeps his order politely simple. When their waiter suggests a red wine for their meal, Markus declines— again, possibly a courtesy to Connor: a man in his thirties taking a college student out to lunch can already look pretty suspect without alcohol in the mix.

It’s a strange dance they’re doing right now: Connor wants to make sure to show he won’t take advantage of Markus’ generosity and kindness; while Markus is trying his best to show he doesn’t want to take advantage of Connor himself.

Considering the very subtle uneasiness he can see in Markus’ smile as he tells the waiter that _yes_ he is sure that they don’t want any wine, it’s pretty clear that this man would not hurt a fly on the wall.

It’s ridiculous enough that it pulls a laugh out of Connor.

“Is this funny to you?” Markus asks him, fake exasperation in his voice.

Connor only feels his grin stretch further. “It _is_ a little funny, come on.”

“I regret everything about this.”

“I don’t believe that for a _second_. You’re too much of a goody-two-shoes, Mr. Manfred.”

Markus looks like the use of his surname is a physical hit to the face. “Seriously, please… Mr. Manfred was my father, and he wouldn't let people call him that before pushing 60. _My_ name is Markus.”

From there, it’s like a brick wall coming down. Gone is the polite awkwardness, they make easy conversation over their lunch, Connor mentioning this or that thing going on at his university and Markus reminiscing about something in his past that he could relate to.

They spend a total of an hour in the steakhouse, and Markus doesn’t even let him _see_ the bill.

He just gets up once they’re done, all quiet smiles and earnest mismatched eyes: “Next stop, campus?”

 _God_ , yes. With a full belly, Connor wants nothing more than to curl up on his bed and have a nap. He nods.

“Do you have a roommate you can call?”

“Yes, but I can do that later. He’s got classes right now.” Despite that, Markus seems satisfied with the answer and out they go, back into the stupidly comfortable car –Connor kind of dozes off on the way too, startling himself awake once it stops, neatly parked just outside the dorms.

It’s surreal for Connor how Markus insists on carrying his backpack for him –there are about five or six books, plus his laptop and other things, so it’s pretty damn heavy… and he’s not gonna lie, he’s glad not to have to drag the thing around, tired as he is, but it feels like overkill at this point.

There’s kindness, and then there’s _stupid_.

“Tell me where this goes and get some rest. I can stick around until your roommate comes back.” …then again, Markus seems the type of person to defy that limit.

“Just… over there is fine. I’ll just go.” Too tired to argue, he disappears into his room. One of his last thoughts before going to sleep is that a possibility is that Markus is staying so he can take Connor back to the agency once he wakes up, since his bicycle has been left there.

Which might be a bit unorthodox, but it’s still nice.

 

When he comes to, feeling nice and well-rested, a cursory glance at his alarm clock shows half past six. Sure enough, there’s the sound of chatter and clattering from the shared are of his and Simon’s dorm.

The first thing he sees when he steps out is Markus’ pristine [cream blazer](http://www.menssuitstips.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Cream-color-men-business-suit.jpg) draped over one of their ugly kitchen chairs, which feels like a crime against fancy Italian cotton. The second thing he sees is Simon casually sitting at their table while _Markus_ is the one at the sink, washing cups of what Connor assumes was coffee they just had, with the sleeves of his white button down shirt rolled up to just under his elbow.

There’s so many things wrong with this picture that Connor can’t even begin to count them.

“…so good to hear you’re doing well, Simon— hey, you’re awake!” Markus stops mid-sentence as soon as he notices Connor, turning to him with the kind of smile that confirms it: this guy was definitely a model himself, at some point in time. “How do you feel?”

Connor feels like Simon is a terrible person for letting Markus stick around to see him just after waking up, and also a terrible host for letting the man in the expensive, light-colored suit be the one to wash cups that have had _coffee_ inside of them. Not that Markus seems bothered by it in the least.

Another thing Connor notices, against every fiber of his own personal decency, is that he can very clearly make out the shape of Markus’ arms and pectorals from underneath the white shirt –if he looked carefully enough, he could probably see the man’s nipples through the thin fabric.

He squashes _all of that_ down. “Much better, thank you.” He assures instead, “Are we still going to make it in time for the shoot?”

Markus’ voice is nothing short of incredulous: “You have a remarkable work ethic.”

From his seat, Simon giggles under his breath. “Oh you have no idea.”

“It’s an important brand; I don’t want to put the rest of the team behind.”

Markus looks to Simon with a look that clearly asks whether Connor is always like this; and the younger man gives a subtle but solemn nod— yes, Connor is always like this.

“Fine. If you’re sure.” He eventually caves. “Be sure to grab your keys.”

“I’ll see you guys out.” Ah, _now_ Simon remembers to be a proper host and hands Markus his blazer. “It was great catching up, Markus.”

The CEO takes his suit jacket and shakes the offered hand fondly. “Give my regards to Daniel.”

Fast-forward fifteen minutes; they’re already back at the agency. Not many people are left around, since the schedule for the latest shift ends at eight p.m. and it’s already approaching seven, but there seem to be a small team still operational just for this shot.

“Hello again, Hannah. Sorry to make you work late.”

She just shakes her head. “Don’t worry. Overtime pay here is real good, and a couple hours won’t kill me.”

“Ah, much better!” Elijah exclaims upon seeing him. “See? Now that you don’t have those dark circles and droopy eyes I won’t need as much make-up to make you pretty.”

An exaggeration, considering three and a half hours of rest wouldn’t really work such miracles, but Connor recognizes the jab for what it is and crosses his arms in mock-offense.

“I thought I already was pretty.”

The delighted chuckle that comes from the stylist is almost contagious. “Watch out, people, I think this one’s a _natural_!”

Like it has happened before, Markus only stays around to watch them set up and give a few pointers and directions before disappearing— only this time it’s probably to go catch up on all the work Connor made him miss by passing out and then being carted around to eat expensive meals and take naps.

He tries not to feel too guilty about it: Markus _did_ offer, and told him, three times, that it was no bother.

One hour and a half into the shoot, everything is going quite well and they almost have all the material they need. It’s around that time that Markus comes back, takes off his blazer and drapes it over one of the chairs behind the photographer’s desk and sits at it silently.

No one bats an eyelash.

There’s two people manning the set and lights, Elijah on standby for any outfit changes or touch ups, and Hannah behind the lens, plus himself on set. Everyone seems perfectly at ease with finishing a late evening shot with the goddamn CEO of the company watching them.

He’s just sitting there, checking a few things on his phone occasionally, mostly silent for a long while.

“The white light is too harsh on his complexion for that outfit, dim it and make it a bit warmer.”

Connor nearly fucking jumps out of his skin when Markus’ voice breaks the somewhat-silence they were working in, but the advice is followed with murmurs of agreement and, once the lighting is appropriately changed, of appreciation.

“Ah. That's definitely better!” Hannah comments, looking through the viewfinder. “Can you bring a hand up to your collar, Connor? We’re going to zoom in a little and that way we can capture the watch as well.”

What a reminder that he’s got about three months’ rent around his wrist right now.

“Move your hand to the left a little.” Markus’ voice is… not unkind, but he seems to have a single-minded focus when working. Very technical. “And tilt your chin up slightly. Look at the camera as if staring down a crowd of corporate zombies and think about how much better than them all you are.”

The scenario sounds amusing to Connor’s ears, because Jericho Modeling Industry is, by all intents and purposes, a corporation… though none of its employees have ever behaved like zombies so far. He knows exactly what Markus’ words meant, and it pulls the hint of a smirk from his lips.

“Perfect!!!” Hanna takes multiple shots from the sound of it, and it boosts Connor’s confidence, so much so that he changes pose unprompted, and at some point he’s openly grinning like a little shit.

Apparently, that’s exactly the theme the client was going for: high-class, haughty and taking no bullshit.

“Ladies and gentlemen we have everything we need for the day! It’s a wrap!” Hoots and applause erupt at Hannah’s call, and people start putting away things with renewed vigor, despite it being nearly ten.

“I understand it’s quite late and everyone wants to just go home, but if you stop to grab dinner on the way, tonight, keep your receipts and bring them to HR tomorrow, they’ll reimburse you the meal.”

No one is surprised by that. The words are only met with a chorus of “Thanks Markus” or “Will do, boss” as people start filing out of the place. Connor has decided he just won’t question it anymore and simply goes back in the dressing room to put his own clothes back on.

When he gets back out, he’s treated to a rare sight: Markus is alone in the studio, sprawled on the photographer’s chair as he watches all the files upload from the camera to the computer, feet propped up on the table and head nearly nodding forward with sleep.

He’s wearing a pair of thin glasses that only serve to accentuate his eyes more.

“Um… everything ok?”

Finally. For once, Markus is the one to jump slightly at Connor’s voice. He takes off the glasses hastily. “Y-yeah. I just sent Hannah home. Everyone else should be well on their way too.”

“And you’re still here because..?”

“I never leave until I’ve made sure everyone else is going home too.” Quite a spartan definition of leadership, to be the first to show up –traffic notwithstanding– and the last to leave.

It’s also a perfect recipe to overwork yourself, which strikes Connor as slightly hypocritical, though it’s not his place to point that out. Instead, what tumbles out of his fool mouth is: “Don’t hide the glasses, they look good on you.”

“Thanks…” Markus still puts them back in their cover and into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, moving to get up now that the upload is complete. “I don’t really need them, except to look at tiny things close up.” He brings his right hand to his cheekbone and taps the tips of his fingers underneath his right eye. “Because of this.”

Barring their lunch together, this is probably the most normal conversation to date. Connor reverts to polite etiquette, blurting out a sterile “I’m sorry to hear that…” before actually remembering Simon’s words and making an attempt: “How did it happen?”

Markus’ expression changes from fatigue to mischief. “I tried to fight a bear barehanded.”

Connor should have expected it –he can’t quite contain the snort at the absurd explanation. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. And I do not recommend it, for the record.” They share a laugh over it while Markus shuts down the last few things, until he turns to Connor. “Well? Off you pop. Will you be ok cycling home or do you need a ride?”

Coming to think of it, Connor could have just said bye and left, rather than staying to make conversation. He only just now realizes what that might have been mistaken for and shakes his head.

“Oh, no, no I’m fine! Promise!” he scrambles to guarantee, following Markus out of the studio hastily, “I should be asking _you_ if you’re good to drive! You looked really sleepy there for a moment.”

“It’s nothing a splash of cold water won’t fix.” Connor is visibly skeptical, and it brings a smile to the man’s face. “I’ve done it before. _Promise_.”

The whole building is pretty much already dark except for the night lights, and the person who was doing the reception’s late shift is already gone as well –which was to be expected, the agency admits no visitors past seven in the evening, so all reception staff leaves at eight.

Markus insists walking Connor to his bike, despite having to double back to reach his car.

“I guess this is goodnight.” The student says, to try and diffuse the slight awkwardness. “Sorry for wrecking everybody’s day.”

“Think nothing of it. But please, e-mail your class schedule to HR, so that they can give you an acceptable timetable.” Not for the first time today, Connor starts thinking that the fashion and modeling industry doesn’t deserve someone like Markus.

He looks more like someone who would travel the world to save endangered wildlife, rather than pandering to fashion companies thriving off the cesspool of capitalism that is the luxury business.

Then again, there _are_ the charity drives, cyclically changing beneficiaries.

“Well. Thank you for everything, Markus.” He settles for eventually, straddling his bike.

The other meets his eyes with a nod. “Anytime, Connor.” He says, almost too quiet to hear. “Goodnight.”

Connor will never admit it, but he watches Markus walk away until he’s out of sight— if _his_ problem with dress pants was that he’d been buying the wrong size, Markus is _definitely_ buying the right one, his ass looks so perfect in those suits that it almost feels like it should have a soundtrack of its own.

 

He makes it back to the dorm okay, and Simon meets him with a yell from the bathroom:

“Welcome back! I left some dinner for you in the fridge if you wanna warm it up!”

That’s awfully nice of him. Connor smiles to himself –he really won the roommate lottery with Simon: the blond is tidy, doesn’t have crazy parties or shit like that, he’s a decent cook and an overall considerate person. He finds the plastic container with leftover pasta easily enough, but that’s not what catches his eye.

There’s… a whole bunch of things that weren’t there before.

Both he and Simon mostly live out of noodles, tuna sandwiches and the like, as all students on a tight budget do, and yet there’s a whole bunch of fruit, vegetables and other stuff that neither of them would have bought unless it was a special occasion.

“Simon, did you get groceries?” he tries.

Shower still running; his only response from the other side of the door is a yell of “Whaaat??”

Connor tries again, louder and slower. “I _said_ , did you get groceries???”

“Oh! Nah, dude, that was Markus!”

Ah, that explains it.

No wait, it explains _nothing_! Why would Markus bother buying them groceries?! And Simon just accepting that fact as if Markus was another roommate of theirs instead of the very rich CEO of a company Connor works for.

“Simon, what the fuck?!”

The water stops and his roommate just laughs. “I know, right? That’s Markus for you.” Again, Simon is incredibly casual about the whole thing. “He was explaining to me that you fainted at work, I told him how this morning you left without even having breakfast, and he went _‘Well of course he’s gonna collapse at work without having proper meals. Wait here!’_ he was out the door before I could stop him, and came back with like three bags of stuff. What was I supposed to do? Refuse it on your behalf?”

“Uh, yes?!” An ‘apology’ lunch and a ride home and then back are already too much kindness all at once; roughly two weeks of groceries on top of it is just ridiculous. “What the _fuck_ , Simon?!”

“Are you going to be less mad if we share it?”

Connor suddenly feels a lot like his father, mumbling to himself: “Jesus Christ…” eventually he just sighs. It’s nearly eleven, and he has class tomorrow. “Fine. Whatever, I’m too tired for this.”

The next day, hanging out with them in the campus green for lunch, North goes into hysterics once she hears about the whole incident.

Connor doesn’t really understand what’s so funny about it, he actually finds the idea rather embarrassing, but one particular remark throws him for a massive loop:

“Are you sure this guy isn’t just trying to become your sugar daddy?”

“My _what?!_ ” he nearly deafens her with his shout, but it only makes her laugh more –enough to nearly topple over in the grass from her cross-legged position. “North, bartering goods and expensive services for sexual favors is immoral _and_ illegal!”

“Not if the person offering the things hasn’t actually _asked_ for any ‘sexual favors’.” She counters, righting herself back up to poke his cheeks. “And why did your mind go straight to sex, hm? Is this Markus guy _that_ hot?”

He is, but that is so not the point. Simon is being no fucking help at all, nearly choking to death on the roasted chicken salad they made and took along with them, so it falls upon Connor to argue against North’s nonsensical notion.

“Isn’t that the way it works?” he asks weakly, clearing his voice to try and sound more resolute, “Either way, it’s irrelevant! Nothing like that is going on, Markus was just being kind, and I do not intend to take advantage of said kindness any further!”

“Is it really taking advantage if he _offered_?” North just seems more and more entertained by his growing outrage, “He’s a big boy, I’m pretty sure he can tell the difference between someone graciously accepting help and a snot-nosed little gold digger taking advantage. Plus, anyone with half a brain can tell you’re _not_ that kind of guy!”

Touching and true, but still. The comparison doesn’t sit right in Connor’s mind. “We’re barely 7 years apart, North. Plus, Markus is not that kind of guy, either!”

Coughing between bites, Simon raises an arm: “That much I can confirm.”

“Okay, so this dude is a genuinely kind person.” North concedes, sounding actually impressed that Simon would vouch for the man, “It doesn’t take off the table the fact that he might want to take care of _you_ , specifically, because he _likes you_.”

Check and mate.

“I… guess?” Connor doesn’t really know what to think.

He hasn’t known Markus that long, but all their interactions so far have been pleasant, Markus is a charming, quick-witted man with a body to rival guys ten years his juniors and a face to match… not to mention his heart is clearly as big as his biceps, if not more, considering he’s done more for Connor in one day than most people would for anyone in a full year.

Would it be that bad to let Markus take a little care of him if he wants to?

He shakes the thought out of his head: “But no, that’s stupid, just because it happened once it doesn’t mean it’ll keep happening.”

“Twice.”

“Whuh?”

“Twice.” Simon repeats. “He took care of you yesterday, and he also bought you a whole bunch of clothes that other time.”

Well… shit. Now that his friend mentions it, he hasn’t been requested to bring any of those clothes in to work, nor has he been asked to wear them for any photoset.

It’s a bit of a blow to his dignity, that Markus might have thought he’d simply need the clothes just by looking at him once, but there’s that one saying about gift horses and all that. Plus, he doesn’t know how to ask the man to take them back without sounding like a complete ass.

And, if he has to be completely honest, he enjoyed spending time with Markus, on both occasions.

“Well… I still think you guys are wrong.”

They agree to disagree, but Connor privately wonders…

…what are the chances of something like that happening again?

He suddenly looks forward to his weekend shift.


	3. The penny drops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor pieces things together.
> 
> Markus is slightly slower in doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been wanting to write that last scene for so long, lmao.
> 
> also, the encounter with the Entitled Soccer Mom from Hell is mildly inspired to real life.  
> As well as other scenes have been along the chapters until now - I work in luxury fashion retail, and as such have _seen some shit_ XD
> 
> Either way... I hope you all enjoy! ♥
> 
> As usual, this is grossly unbetaed and I'll correct grammar mistakes as I reread (I run an automated spellcheck, but even that sometimes misses things).
> 
> p.s.: father visiting between March 27th and April 3rd (I had the dates wrong before lol) so updates will likely either slow down or not be there at all during those few days. ♥

Having no classes on weekends is great –Connor makes sure to enjoy it while it lasts, since there won’t be any weekends or regular 9-to-5 schedules once he actually gets in the force. And even though it’s still work, he’s coming to enjoy dropping by the agency for his shift: with the right mindset, he almost feels like a little boy playing dress-up, which makes the workload lighter and more pleasant.

“Ok, whose idea was it?”

Connor is a little early this morning –he woke up with his back in knots because of either his crappy mattress or a wrong position he must’ve ended up with, so he decided to just get up and go for a run, hoping that some stretching would help him feel less like a crushed soda can and more like a human being.

It worked, but it also meant that he was back and showered before 7:30. Simon gurgled at him to either be quiet or get the fuck out in a semi-comatose voice from his room and, knowing the other had stayed up late yesterday to work on a project, Connor felt it was only considerate to get dressed and head out.

Which brings him to the agency’s reception hall fifteen minutes before the start of his shift, just in time to witness Markus pretending to be heavily annoyed with Kara, who appears to just be signing in.

Judging by his smile, you can _easily_ tell he’s not mad at her, in the slightest.

She chuckles behind her paper binder and pats him on the arm. “Oh come on, Markus, it’s nothing you’ve never done before! They interviewed you, and now they want just _one_ picture to do a cute then/now comparison… what’s the problem?”

“Ten years and about a dozen pounds.”

For a moment, Connor muses that Markus _doesn’t_ get to be self-conscious, not looking like he does, then his mind doubles back on him: the fashion industry is merciless, and Markus is not immune to that, even if now he’s on the business side of things.

Once a model, forever judged based on your looks.

Biting his lower lip slightly, he steps up to the duo. “All muscle gains, I’m sure.” He intercepts cheekily, smiling at both. “Morning.”

“Hey there. You’re early.” Markus’ smile is contagious, though he’s probably being extra nice to try and get away from Kara before she rips a ‘yes’ out of him.

Kara smiles at Connor in lieu of a greeting, seemingly not done in trying to convince her boss. “Promise you’ll think about it?” she asks, “It’s a cute idea. We can set it up just after the morning shoot, you can be done in fifteen minutes...”

“There’s a joke somewhere in there about being done that fast. Luckily, I’m classier than that.” The CEO makes an exaggerated curtsy to the both of them and heads up to his office.

Kara’s shoulders are still shaking despite her stifling her giggles.

“So, what sort of picture has our fearless leader so spooked?” he asks, before he can think better of it and keep his mouth shut.

Kara turns to him with a surprised expression, as if she didn’t expect him to pick up on the fact that Markus wasn’t super confident all the time. He shrugs at her and points at his college jacket.

“Criminology student, remember?”

It’s a perfect explanation as to why he’s able to read the older man so well, it’s not at all because he’s been watching Markus a lot, curious about what makes him tick and fascinated about him and his journey. She seems to accept it as valid anyway and clears her voice.

“Well… I’d bet good money that it’s not the picture itself, but what it can mean.” She explains, pulling out her phone and rifling through it for a while as she speaks, “On one hand, catering to that kind of whim still puts emphasis on his looks rather than his accomplishments, which he’d rather avoid… on the other hand, stepping in front of the lens ten years later and owning it sends a message in and on itself: beauty has no age. Which is good.”

Connor hums thoughtfully. That _is_ a bit of a conundrum. His memory goes back to the piece Forbes did on him and he eventually lets out a sigh. “Well. Anyone trying to make light of Markus’ accomplishments because of his looks is likely just jealous of both. I think he should go for it.”

Kara’s face brightens in the sweetest grin Connor has ever seen on a human being –gosh; she is so tiny and cute. “I think so too. I have to go now. Enjoy your shift, Connor!”

They both go their separate ways –Connor is starting to recognize people and wave at them on the way, and he can’t help but notice that this whole building feels more like a family than an actual company… and a big part of that is thanks to Markus, yes, but it’s more than that.

It would seem extraordinary people just tend to gravitate to each other— he’s not sure what that makes of _him_ , right now, but he chooses to feel good about it.

They’re posing for a boot manufacturer today and _wow_. The shoes on the blue-haired model next to him look like they could take a grown man’s head clean off. The whole set has a very 80s vibe to it and Connor loves it. Elijah chatters practically non-stop while doing his make-up, about his single mother and what a die-hard Jethro Tull fan she was, ending his tale with a bomb that makes Connor very embarrassed about making assumptions:

“I just wished she would’ve lived long enough to meet my wife.”

“Wait, you’re straight?” The split second of silence that ensues is more than enough. “Oh God I’m such an asshole, please ignore that question while I bury myself in a block of concrete.”

Elijah, bless his heart, just ruffles his head and chuckles. “No, it’s fine, I get that a lot.” He doesn’t quite contain the slight laughter breaking his voice as he gestures to himself, “Man in his 30s doing professional make-up, looking like I look… stereotypes are what they are for a reason. Though the undercut probably doesn’t help.”

“Still, I feel like an inconsiderate jackass.” Not in the least because he is very gay and relatively comfortably out, so he’s made conversation with Elijah about men and general college-life boy troubles, taking for granted that the other man could relate or was even remotely interested in the topic.

The stylist finishes up Connor’s hairdo and then pinches both his cheeks. “Hey. It’s fine, really. It would be just as rude of me to be ‘offended’ at being mistaken for gay. I would like to think my masculinity is not so fragile that I need to shout how straight I am all the time.”

“That’s… a very solid point.” Connor concedes –if all straight men were this chill about sexuality, things would be so much easier, god. He shakes his head and puts himself back on track. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“It was a long time ago, but thank you.” Elijah smiles at him and pats him heartily on the back. “Go on now! Go show off how handsome you are!”

Emily turns out to be a wonderful conversationalist, she tells Connor all about how this is her favorite brand of boots and how good they are, she has had the same two pairs for like three years now and they’re still going strong, the shoot is loads of fun and Hannah even puts on 80s music to get them in the mood; and they get some really fun pictures out of it.

It’s about 12:30 and Connor is just stepping out of the set to change back into his regular clothes when Josh comes in, heaving with him a 5 gallon cooler of water with the biggest shit-eating grin Connor has ever seen. Not far behind him, Markus also steps into the studio, his expression is mostly aggravated but the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrays _some_ amusement at least.

“What’s the water for?” he asks Elijah, receiving only a laugh in return.

“Oh don’t you worry about that.” The stylist says, ushering him into the changing room while also taking an outfit from the rack to bring out.

Huh. Connor did wonder what that lone 42R outfit had been doing there. Mystery solved, apparently.

When he emerges from the changing rooms, the guys have folded the backdrop panels so that Markus can rest a hand against each side as he opens his arms, leaning his weight slightly forward. He’s wearing dark grey jeans and a black button-up shirt.

Connor doesn’t know whether it’s the jeans, the fact that Markus is barefoot or the role-reversal quality of the situation, but he stops and stares. Hard.

Just behind the panel, Josh is standing on a ladder, still holding the huge water bottle. “Ready, Markus?”

Oh.

Oh, _now_ Connor has an inkling as to what the water is for.

Markus takes a deep breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay gentlemen, hold positions…” Hannah lifts her free hand to accompany her countdown. “Three, two, one… Drop!”

On cue, Josh upturns the water cooler over Markus’ head, while he stays studiously still except for a shuddering breath that shakes his chest minutely –oh, _wow_ … from the looks of that drenched shirt, Connor was right about muscle gains. Of course, having cold water dumped on you makes you instinctively tense up every muscle so Markus is lowkey flexing every inch of his body, but still.

Connor _prays_ he can look like that too when he hits 30.

“Aaaand done! Let me check the viewfinder…”

At Hannah’s voice, Markus finally lets himself shiver. “Please tell me you have a good one.”

“Yep! All done, you can go dry off!”

“Oh thank God.” It’s at that point that Markus legitimately rips the wet shirt off, Elijah promptly running after him.

“Markus, watch the buttons!”

“I’m freezing, I want this thing off. We can send it to the tailor later.”

Not at all an unreasonable thing to want when you just had cold water dumped all over you, but Connor is mildly distracted by Markus ripping his drenched shirt open and peeling it off his skin in the middle of the studio.

He’s got freckles all over his chest.

Just… wow.

Then their eyes meet for a second and Connor remembers basic decency, along with the fact that this is a modeling agency and gorgeous people pose for pictures all the time here, sometimes in various states of undress depending on the articles being modeled for.

He shakes his head vigorously and hopes he didn’t turn too red in the face. This shit brings the whole drooling after your sexy boss cliché to a whole new level, but Connor makes a mental note to ask Kara what magazine this was for again.

 

Markus doesn’t see Connor again until the next day, at just about closing –Sundays are blessedly short in terms of work hours and he almost never works on Sundays if he can help it, but sometimes it happens and he rolls with it.

Connor appears to be struggling with his bike— and if that isn’t a familiar picture, Markus doesn’t know what is. He sees so much of himself in this young man it’s scary.

Hard-working, studying to do something bigger than himself… and beautiful, way too beautiful for a world as cold-hearted as the one they live in. It makes Markus want to protect him and help him along, in any way he can.

Ah, looks like whatever was giving him trouble finally slid back into gear.

Markus watches silently with a smile on his face as Connor heaves a sigh of relief and starts cycling forward; but it freezes on his face when he sees a kid, about ten or twelve, turning a corner out of nowhere chasing some kind of bouncy ball.

“Connor, look out!!!”

 His yell startles the other but it serves the purpose: Connor brakes and turns the handlebar. It results in him crashing down on the pavement, but the child is unharmed. Markus rushes to him to make sure everyone is alright.

“Hey. Are you ok?”

The kid is understandably wide-eyed and stock still, bouncy ball all but forgotten, but manages a nod. Markus is just in the process of helping Connor up when they hear it.

“What did you do to my child?!”

Oh, gosh. It’s one of those voices –just this side of shrill, maybe slightly nasal and laced with the typical ‘can I speak to a manager’ tone. She’s even carrying some type of Starbucks hot drink. Markus preemptively runs a hand along his forehead.

“Ma’am, your child was running into the street unsupervised.” He tries, while giving Connor time to compose himself and pick up the bicycle, “Luckily my friend saw him in time to brake. See? He’s fine.”

This does not seem to go down well for the lady, who turns into a straight up banshee at that.

“How _dare_ you blame my son for this boy’s stupidity?! I’ll have you both arrested for trying to kill my precious little angel—”

Unexpectedly, Connor speaks up –he had been taken aback at being yelled at right after falling off his bike, but a quick glance around apparently was more than enough to assess the situation.

“By all means, madam, I can call the cops for you.” He offers, pulling out his phone, “I’m sure they will be all too happy to ask why you were neglecting your child so badly that he nearly wandered into traffic.”

“Don’t talk back you little shit—” the shrieking harpy clearly doesn’t understand exactly what’s going on, and under Markus’ stunned gaze tries to grab Connor by the collar to shove him backwards.

Connor barely moves an inch, but he’s already dialing with his right hand and only has one more thing to say: “Ma’am, if you don’t get your hands off me you’ll have to answer of assault on top of child neglect. Also, I hope you’re aware of the fact that there’s a traffic camera just above us and to the right, are you?”

Markus is still struggling to catch up with everything that just happened, but he does see the soccer mom from hell _pale_ at the mention of her blatant child neglect and gratuitous attack on a perfect stranger. She does step back from Connor, but she also bristles in a way that Markus is all too familiar with: entitled assholes are the same everywhere.

So when she tries to chuck her drink in Connor’s face, Markus is already in front of him to get a faceful of lukewarm coffee all over his very expensive suit. She takes her child by hand and storms off, still muttering all kinds of obscenities, while Markus just sighs and gets his pocket square out to dry off his face.

“Why did you do that?!” Connor asks, completely dumbfounded.

“What do you mean, why?” Markus counters with a shrug, “You already went down kissing the asphalt to save that witch’s offspring, I wasn’t about to let her add insult to injury.”

“But your suit—” clearing his voice slightly, Connor stops short and changes his question: “Do you wanna press charges?”

Markus shakes his head, already feeling fondness rise up –Connor just very nearly hurt himself badly, and asks _him_ if he’s okay on account of a coffee stain on his suit. “No. She wouldn’t be worth the dry-cleaning bill. Come now, I think the fall messed up your bike.”

Only then does Connor turn his attention to his own property: in the fall, the chain snagged into one of the pedals and snapped. It’s technically a quick fix… _if_ you have the tools and know-how.

“Shit…” Connor has neither at the moment.

“Do you have anywhere urgent to be?”

“Not really, it’s just that this bike is my main method of transportation…”

Yes, Markus is willing to bet Connor relies on it quite a lot. Getting his own phone out, he does a quick google search and finds a number. “Let’s call a service for it then. I’m sure they have someone for urgent repairs.” He proposes, “In the meantime, I’d be happy to take you wherever you need to be. Or to a hospital, if you wish. You fell pretty hard on your side.”

There would be puns to be made about Markus being the one actually falling, but the CEO is lucky enough to know how to keep his mouth shut this one time.

Connor just shakes his head ‘no’ and assures him he’s fine once more: “Don’t worry about me, it’s not the first time I fall off my bicycle and it probably won’t be the last… you’re already helping me out in more ways than I can repay… and now this too…”

“I told you, Connor, repayment is _not_ an issue. Not with me, not about this.” The scary part about it is that Markus means it. He’d be willing to take care of anything for Connor if the other so much as allowed it.

 

Soon enough a guy in a truck comes to pick up the bike and promises to have it ready for pick-up on the following afternoon, which is a huge relief, but that now leaves Connor with no bicycle, just outside the agency, with a still coffee-drenched Markus and memories of yesterday’s shoot resurfacing.

On top of those, his conversation with North about all that sugar daddy nonsense is also nagging at the back of his head –here he is, owing yet another favor to Markus who stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that and is also offering to play chauffer to him.

Then again, maybe Markus is doing this because he doesn’t want to be alone in his big fancy car on the way to his big fancy apartment. Maybe Markus is lonely, and Connor can repay him by keeping him company.

He musters up all of his courage and says it: “Tell you what. I really don’t have anywhere to be, but if _you’re_ driving anywhere, I’d be flattered to tag along.”

Markus blinks at him at first, genuinely taken aback, before breaking into one of those smiles that always leave Connor genuinely considering North’s words.

“Well, first order of business for me would be to go change my clothes and send these off.”

“Sounds like an adventure. Lead the way.” Connor slides a bit closer to the other so they can fall into step together, and Markus is chuckling as they do.

“Then follow me.”

 

Connor doesn’t really know what he expected from Markus’ place, but he definitely wasn’t expecting warm wooden furniture and homely colors. There’s a framed carbon drawing that’s very clearly child Markus and what Connor assumes to be his brother in the hallway, carpet-covered stairs leading to an upper floor, a living room downstairs leading to a kitchen and a studio on the other side.

“Make yourself comfortable and help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Markus offers, stopping just before the stairs, “Housekeeping only comes twice a week and never on weekends, so don’t be shy about serving yourself. I’ll be right back.”

Now, only a massive liar would deny curiosity, so in the short lapse of time Markus spends upstairs, changing out of his stained clothes and freshening up, Connor discreetly snoops around. He sees the grand piano, wonders if Markus actually plays it, looks at the floor-to-ceiling bookcase with a lot of titles that are definitely not for your average fashion students and a few papers scattered around on the coffee table.

He tries to focus on the piano not to give into temptation to look at those, and Markus catches him simply sitting awkwardly at the instrument rather than doing anything inappropriate.

“A thing of beauty, huh?”

Connor is getting used to hearing the other’s voice out of nowhere by now, and doesn’t jump that much anymore. “What?”

“The piano, I mean. Like it?” Markus elaborates, hiding a hint of mischief in his eyes, “Though I’m sure you’d cut an impressive figure all dressed up like a Victorian gentleman, and maybe sitting with proper posture.”

This is… absurdly domestic. The man in front of him, wearing only grey sweatpants and a striped teal tank top, is his boss. That’s the owner of what’s probably the biggest modeling agency in Detroit and whatever the fuck else he does with his money to have become so goddamn rich.

And Connor is seeing him barefoot right now.

He wishes there was a word for the moment when you understand how profoundly weird something is but are unable to do anything but accept it.

“Do you play?” he hears himself asking.

Markus lowers his gaze with a slightly self-conscious smile, but nods. “A little.”

“I’d love to hear you.” Connor does not have the time to put the brakes on his dumb mouth. That sounded way too intimate! He already basically invited himself over to Markus’ house, now he’s gonna look like a creep, for sure! Markus is—

—suddenly very close.

“Scoot over a little for me, would you?”

Connor complies wordlessly at Markus’ request, and suddenly becomes all too aware of how _good_ the other smells. He almost wants to ask if it’s really Voyage or not but he won’t risk sounding even more like a creep.

Blissfully unaware of Connor’s little inner meltdown, Markus positions himself to play and lets out an awkward chuckle. “I’m, uh… probably a bit rusty, but I’ll try.”

Markus plays a relatively simple, [slow](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hArS6IhmRWI) piece; Connor can’t decide if it is more sweet or more haunting, it alternates between the two sensations leaving a mixed mess of emotions behind… all the while, Connor is also trying not to stare at his boss’ well-defined arms and chest as his muscles ripple and move while he plays and that tank top does absolutely _nothing_ to hide it.

“That… really was a thing of beauty.”

Markus inclines his head gracefully. “Thank you, but it was really nothing special—”

“ _Everything_ about you is special.”

The wide-eyed, completely shocked look in those mismatched eyes makes Connor painfully aware of the fact that he just _said that out loud_.

North’s words return to his head full force. He thinks back to all the things Markus bought for him, all the little ways in which the other takes care of him, how _safe_ and _happy_ it makes him feel and… it’s not like Markus openly asked for anything back, quite the contrary, but Connor still doesn’t feel good about having no way to show his appreciation that feels strong enough.

The silence between them seems perfect to lean in and see where this goes.

Markus’ gaze drops to his lips. Good.

He doesn’t move away. Even better.

The kiss could barely be called that, just a soft, quick meeting of lips before Markus politely breaks contact.

“What was that for?”

Connor tries to clear his voice and not to be discouraged, if only because Markus’ tone doesn’t sound angry or put off, but rather genuinely curious. “A thanks, I suppose.”

The older man looks, if possible, even more confused. “For what?”

It almost makes Connor laugh.

“What do you mean, _‘for what’_? For everything…” he blurts out, as if saying that the sky is blue, “All the good you’ve done for me, the way you dote on me… Isn’t it how these things work?”

“Connor, don’t get me wrong, I am very flattered that you would at all want to kiss me, but… what things?” Markus’ hold on his shoulder is gentle and Connor could shrug out of it at any moment, but the student is honestly rooted on the spot by the fact that a 30-year-old man could actually be so innocent.

And yet there’s no sign of deception in Markus’ eyes even as he looks for it –and he’s pretty good at that.

It’s going to be up to him to make it obvious. He bites the inside of his cheek slightly, forever glad that they’re in the privacy of Markus’ home. “You know, this whole… ‘sugar daddy’ type of thing?”

The shock of Markus’ face redoubles if that was even possible. “Wait _what_?” he exclaims, nearly falling off the piano bench and getting up in order not to, “I didn’t— I never…” it’s positively endearing to see realization slowly creeping up to the man and finally hitting him like a freight train. “Oh, _shit_.”

And then it’s Connor’s turn to be surprised, because instead of amused, Markus is absolutely mortified. He drops to his knees at the piano bench and grabs both of Connor’s hands.

“Shit, I am _so_ sorry, I had no idea how what I was doing would come across, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, or to make you think you owed me anything at all, let alone sexual favors, I’m sorry, I will remove myself from your existence if you want, just say the word! You’ll continue to work as normal and you won’t have to worry about seeing my face—”

“Stop!!!” despite himself, and despite how profoundly weird this entire situation is, Connor bursts out laughing. _Now_ he can see what Simon mentioned about Markus being mildly socially inept and running away with assumption. Too bad it only makes him look adorable right now. “I’m not mad. Why would I be?”

“I—I don’t know, I just don’t want to be taking advantage—”

“Markus, the only person who got any sort of advantage so far has been me.” Connor retorts gently, “I’ve been on the receiving end of your overwhelming kindness for weeks now, and at a loss on how to show you my gratitude and appreciation.”

It only seems to make the man shrink in on himself. “I thought I was just doing what’s right.”

Oh, wow. Markus is serious. Connor can barely form words. “Um, no. No, what you’ve been doing for me goes well above and beyond ordinary kindness.”

Big, mismatched eyes look up at him in wonder and take a good ten years off of Markus’ face: “It does?”

“ _How_ has no one scammed the _pants_ off you yet, you incurable goody-two-shoes?!” that may sound a bit harsh in hindsight, but Connor is honestly at a loss for anything else to say.

It seems, however, that it was the right thing, because it makes Markus chuckle and get back on his feet, which Connor follows.

“Well… I’d argue that it’s not that easy to get _into_ my pants, but I did just let you kiss me for no reason just now.”

Connor holds back a snort. “Have I apologized for that yet?”

“Oh no, please don’t.” Markus’ voice then takes on a slightly breathless quality that shoots tingles down Connor’s spine. “I did enjoy that, very much. I just… I don’t want whatever _this_ is to be a transaction.” Once more, the man’s selflessness shines through his words, “I confess I’ve grown fond of you, and like taking care of you, but I don’t do it for any sort of reward, and would keep doing it even if you decided you don’t like me so much after all.”

A voice sounding annoyingly similar to North’s resounds in Connor’s head, and he can’t help but let out the words: “I’m terribly sorry, Markus, but that technically does qualify you as a ‘sugar daddy’.”

“Oh God…” Markus shakes his head in disbelief, but finally laughter comes back to shake his chest, “Could we… avoid calling it that?”

Connor is all too happy to oblige: “No arguing from me, I always thought the whole ‘daddy’ thing was creepy as hell.”

“Oh, the irony.” Markus comments with a smirk, to which Connor retaliates crossing his arms in defiance.

“You’re not my real dad!” he cries out first, hoping the other will get the meme, then pointing out something that is obvious to him, “Aren’t we like, just 7 years apart?”

He only realizes his mistake when Markus’ smirk widens: “I love that you checked.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Why don’t you make me?”

And that is apparently a cue for Connor to grab Markus at the hips, turn the two of them around and trap the man against the side of the grand piano to kiss the living daylights out of him.

Markus has no problems opening his mouth for Connor and getting his arms around the other’s shoulders, but once they do eventually part for air he holds the other slightly away to look at him square in the eyes:

“Wait. I want you to promise me that, whatever this thing between us is, you’ll never do something like this because you feel you ‘have’ to… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, ever, and nothing will happen unless you really want it to, alright?”

“Oh, believe me, I _wanted_ this.” Connor can barely even say it without attempting to chase Markus’ lips with his own after the kiss; it couldn’t be any more obvious that he is completely onboard and consenting.

He would have gone in for another kiss, but the doorbell stops them both in their tracks.

“That’s the dry cleaners, coming to pick up the suit.” Markus says, reluctantly disentangling their embrace. “I’ll be right back.”

Feeling bold, he leaves a chaste kiss to Connor’s cheek before exiting the living room to go upstairs and get his stained clothes from earlier.

A sudden thought goes through Connor’s mind: “Do you want me to hide?”

The reply still makes him think the man is way too good to be true.

“I have nothing to hide if you don’t, but please, choose whatever is more comfortable for you.”

It’s ultimately a moot point, because you can’t see the piano from the front door, and the dry cleaners’ driver comes and goes without so much as a glance inside anyway.

Once the door closes, Connor feels a sudden surge of nervousness come from nowhere— sure, Markus has said over and over that he doesn’t want anything from him, and rationally speaking the other had about a dozen chances to try to blackmail him or even force him into something in the last thirty minutes alone, but still… a man is only as good as his word, and temptation is called that for a reason.

On the other hand, yet another part of his brain supplies, wouldn’t it be exciting? Markus has been nothing but a poster boy for kindness, but Connor has seen him tense back when he told off the two assholes at the store, and once more the banshee just today— he was still impeccably polite, but there was a certain hint of… something, just underneath his skin and behind his eyes, much wilder and unrestrained than the man that tries so hard to please everyone around him.

And Connor would not mind seeing that up close, in all honesty.

_No! Bad Connor, that’s too soon!_

Mentally kicking both the part of his brain making him so stupidly tense _and_ the one salivating at the idea of a ‘wild Markus’, Connor steels himself for the worst while still hoping for the best: “So… now what?”

“Hmm…” Markus makes a show of being pensive about it, before smiling at him. “How about, I go put on some real clothes, take you out to dinner, and then back to Simon before he gets an aneurysm while thinking you’re missing?”

That seals it; Connor had something terrible happen to him in a past life and is reaping all the good karma in this one. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “How do you know Simon will worry?”

“If he grew up to be anything like his brother, he’s a relentless mother hen.”

“Fair enough.” Daniel lives in Canada now and Connor never met him, but he knows Simon skypes his brother almost daily and Daniel even asks after _his_ health despite not knowing him personally. It’s definitely a family trait.

“I’ll go make myself pretty, then. You start thinking about where you wanna go.”

Just watching Markus walking up the stairs is a feast for the eyes, and Connor has to take a deep breath not to comment on that. If only he could make Markus feel the same way he does whenever shit like that happens…

“Hm.” Idea forming into his head, he takes his phone out of his pocket for a quick google search. There is one place he idly wondered about but could never go to on his own, or with any of his friends.

He’d have to dust off his high school French to even just read the menu, but it might be worth it just to see if he can ruffle Markus’ feathers a bit.

He really could get used to this.

...Damn it, North is going to be so smug about it!


	4. Dinner, dessert, and all things too good to be true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve already bought me dinner, Markus.” Connor says, with a firmness he didn’t think he’d have in this situation, “What I really want now is _dessert.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAAAAAN, it's been a long time, hasn't it???
> 
> This chapter goes out to Amiko, since it's her birthday today! ♥  
> Happy birthday my dearest, thank you for all the wonderful art, not to mention your love and support! ♥ ♥ ♥  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's quite juicy, if I say so myself ;)
> 
> Welp. The plot thickens slightly.  
> Not too much.  
> But just enough.  
> Like Markus' thighs.
> 
> ...that was terrible, I'll see myself out lmao.
> 
> Sorry, I'm in a giggly mood today, apparently.  
> Pls take my love.

North is, predictably, insufferable about it.

“Look at you, you fancy bitch.” She comments, the day he actually decides to wear a set of the expensive clothes Markus had bought for him, “You _so_ have a sugar daddy.”

“We are _barely_ seven years apart!” he hisses, “He doesn’t— he doesn’t like being called… that, any more than I like saying it.”

Which is not at all.

Markus is just… his slightly older boyfriend who gives him a lot of gifts. And does nice things for him, all the time.

Not that Connor has called him a boyfriend to his face –despite rolling with their situation and the mutual attraction, he is… very hesitant about this whole thing.

Markus is rich, handsome _and_ smart. He could literally have anyone he wanted. When Connor mentioned he felt a disparity in what they each did for the other, Markus shook his head and assured him that just by being by his side and being someone to talk to after work and who made him feel less lonely, Connor was doing something for him more precious than anything he could buy.

Connor can respect that, but he still can’t shake off the feeling that there’s a sort of power imbalance between them, whether it is factual or just perceived by him, and he is not completely comfortable with that.

He should probably talk about it with Markus. Eventually. When Markus is not so busy with work and he is not so busy with tests.

In the meantime, he has to admit he’s enjoying the surprised looks some of his course mates are giving him at his new style. He could almost write a dissertation on how looks can change someone’s perception and sometimes even make an officer exercise bias.

Shit, it’s actually a good idea. _And_ he can justify his new looks as a social experiments instead of having to reveal he’s being pampered by his rich not-boyfriend.

Simon is his most fervent supporter. He keeps saying that Markus is a great guy and that he bets they’re super cute together.

“You should have him over again, so North can meet him and finally be convinced he’s not some douchy old man.” He mentions over lunch, none too subtly elbowing Connor in the ribs.

In her defence, North just laughs along: “I would never think he’s actually _old_ , I know Connor has better taste than that. Clearly.” She gestures to Connor’s outfit of the day as proof of his supposed good taste.

He is torn between sharing in his friends’ amusement and wishing a hole would just open in the ground to swallow him. Eventually, his sass wins out.

“Oh, I can assure you, North, he tastes _really_ good.”

“ _Dude!_ ” she protests, “Way too much information!”

It’s Connor’s turn to laugh now. “You guys were practically asking for it.”

North and Simon both go off complaining that they were not asking about dirty details (yet) until, with beautiful timing, his phone buzzes with a text.

 _»_ _I have been buried in paperwork since 9 this morning and I have like four separate meetings after lunch. Send help._

He can just imagine Markus pouting behind his glasses and it sends a little pang to his heart— biting his lips as he composes a reply, it’s all he can do not to physically put a hand to his chest.

 _»_ _You poor soul. If it makes you feel better, I’ll be buried in books about Social Anthropology for the next four hours._

The next text is almost instantaneous.

 _»_ _Sounds like we both need something nice to shake off this godawful day. Meet me for dinner at that French place you liked a lot?_

Oh, absolutely. Aside from the fact that the food is nice and they have a great wine selection, it’s another chance to show off his French skills.

“Look at you, smiling at your phone over a few texts.” North teases, trying fruitlessly to lean over and sneak a peek, “Come on, I’m trying to be a protective mama duck and make sure big daddy isn’t a bad person!”

“North, for the love of God, don’t call him that.” It’s only been a few days, but they’ve both convened that the whole ‘daddy’ nonsense is a major turn-off. Connor is glad there are no misunderstandings on _that_ , at the very least.

“Fine, you spoilsport.” She concedes, huffing and crossing her arms, “But I want to bear witness to the first shirtless selfie. I still don’t believe this dude is as hot as Simon says he is.”

Simon shares a look with Connor as he, for lack of a better word, _tuts_ at her. “North, have you never played ‘Simon says’? What I say is _always_ true.”

Getting an idea that might just make Markus’ day less boring, Connor writes his next text:

_» Dinner sounds perfect. Hey, I need a shirtless selfie real quick._

Predictably, the first reaction is confusion.

_» You need a what?_

_» I’m hanging out with Simon and our one other friend, and she doesn’t believe you’re ‘as hot as Simon says you are’. …Pretty please?_

Markus’ next message takes a few minutes to arrive. Realistically, just enough time to surreptitiously lock the door to his office, untie his tie, unbutton his shirt snap the picture and compose himself again.

Connor’s phone lights up with the caption:

_» Well, since you said ‘pretty please’…_

The picture underneath it is Markus slumped in his office chair with his shirt unbuttoned and slightly pushed down one shoulder, necktie slung carelessly around his neck and down his chest in a way that only accentuates it further. His eyes are watching the camera with just a hint of playfulness, lips not quite upturned into a smile but almost.

Of course— before becoming a CEO, Markus had been a model for years. Obviously his selfie game would be _insanely_ strong. Looks like he hasn’t even used any filters –his freckles and his scar are clearly visible, whereas filters would smooth out such details.

He drinks in the image a good few seconds, before clicking his tongue and turning his phone to show North.

“You were saying?”

A low whistle is the only answer he gets at first. Then North grabs the phone to inspect the selfie more closely.

“Wow, okay. I concede…” she says, blinking almost in disbelief, “If I was into dudes I would probably jump on that faster than you can say—”

“I swear to God if you finish that phrase with another shitty ‘daddy’ joke I’m leaving.”

She cuts off mid-phrase, closes her mouth and mimics a zipper closing itself shut along her lips.

“Plus, he’s not just a pretty face.” He adds after a moment, almost shyly. “He’s smart, and funny, and probably the most compassionate person you’ll ever meet.”

Both Simon and North are silent for a second, as they stare at Connor with mildly surprised expressions.

He blinks at them. “What?”

Simon bites his lower lip hard. “Nothing—”

“You are _gone_ for this guy!!!” North isn’t as tactful. To her credit, she tries to restrain the giggles. “No, no wait, I think that’s good! Beautiful even, you haven’t had a real relationship since before finishing high school, it was about time—”

“Okay, _now_ I’m leaving.” Connor knows it’s just good-natured teasing on her part, but it still feels like too much too soon, and he’s got to study anyway.

 

Admittedly, though, being with Markus, regardless of an accurate definition of whatever is between them, is great; and it’s not only for the sudden amounts of privilege Connor has found himself into.

He still cycles himself to places every day, but does so in nice, sturdy shoes and a proper coat; he goes to fancy restaurants he wouldn’t have the chance to try out and generally doesn’t have to worry about making ends meet –which has lifted a load off his chest and allowed him to concentrate more on is studying, improving his already good grades.

Considering it’s only going to be one more year, and then right to training… it’s the best that could happen.

Yet Connor still feels slightly guilty about… something. Markus is not a simpleton, and has made it clear multiple times that he doesn’t mind doing nice things for him, likes it even, and that it doesn’t have any real impact on his finances; but some part of Connor’s mind still fights against just _taking_ all this, without having earned it somehow.

He probably just needs to get used to having a rich boyfriend. Companion. Whatever the hell they are.

The sight of a familiar silver Alfieri and an even more familiar man leaning against the driver’s door makes him smile and speed up. Markus didn’t question him when Connor asked if he could always pick him up a little way off-campus —he’d rather not have to explain their relationship to a professor should they be seen kissing on university grounds or, worst case scenario, he’d rather not have Markus accidentally prosecuted for loitering around college girls, considering some of them are under 21— so the least Connor himself can do is not to question this amazing guy that wants to see him eating well and wearing nice things.

He still throws a subtle eye around before kissing him hello.

Markus doesn’t notice, or doesn’t say anything if he did. Maybe he understands Connor’s concerns and his letting him work this out at his own pace.

“Hey there.” He simply greets after the kiss, resting both hands comfortably at the small of his back, “Long day?”

 _This_ Connor really enjoys. The warm arms around him, the low voice breathing the words against his skin. Markus has been a perfect gentleman the past couple of weeks and good heavens it’s driving Connor _insane_.

He sighs, melting in the hug a little. “Probably not as long as yours.”

“I have to admit I hadn’t heard that in a while.” The amused chuckle is unexpected… until Connor’s brain catches up with the innuendo.

“That was terrible.” He playfully shoves Markus away, while the other still laughs as they separate and opens the car door.

“Ready for some fancy French food?”

 

The place is really fancy. Connor is reminded of the place in Pretty Woman where the waiter catches the flying escargot –incidentally, he stays the _hell_ away from those, but he does make the order for both of them, since Markus gave him full agency to do that on account of not being able to pronounce the items on the menu.

“—du Château Margaux, s'il vous plaît.”

Markus, who was just watching him and seemingly spacing out while the waiter asked them what they wanted to drink, perks up at that: “Wait, did you just order a castle?”

The fact that it still fazes the man much less that it should, had it been a real worry, sends Connor into laughter as their waiter leaves.  Markus seems content with watching him until he can catch his breath enough to speak.

“Château Margaux.” He repeats, voice still slightly broken by giggling, “It’s a wine.”

“Ooh, that makes sense.”

“Is that seriously the only French word you know?”

Markus does that thing where he can look both sheepish and sexy at the same time, shrugging a little and biting at his lower lip. Connor loves it and hates it.

“I took Spanish in high school.” He offers as an explanation, leaning the slightest bit forward, “Plus, I wasn’t really listening; I just like it when you speak French.”

“Do you, now?” Connor plays a little dumb, but he was hoping for this. Honestly, before all of these changes in his life started he probably would have never even tried it, but working as a model has made him more confident; he’s not so afraid of flirting with the gorgeous man in front of him, especially since he knows it’s very much welcomed.

So, apparently Markus finds it sexy when he speaks French— good to know.

Dinner is a quiet and pleasant thing, they talk about their respective days, Markus asks him how studying is coming along; Connor bemoans upcoming tests and listens to Markus’ projects for the next week.

He’s come to find out that there are a few more reasons behind Markus’ wealth, other than the extremely successful high-tier modeling agency. Not only is he an integral part of a few projects that have several investors, he himself learned long ago how and where to invest money in productive ways.

The difference between Markus and other people is that most time people invest money in things for their own gain only; while whenever Markus moves large sums of money around he tries to make sure it benefits everyone involved. This, in turn, makes people trust him and agree to things; and that’s how Markus was able to fund an entire charity organization to offer shelter and support for homeless youth and Lord knows how many other initiatives like that.

Connor downs the entirety of his glass of wine when the malicious thought of _being_ one of Markus’ ‘charity initiatives’ tries to worm its way into his mind.

_No. Markus is better than that, that’s just your own sense of inadequacy speaking._

“Hey, is everything alright?”

Concerned mismatched eyes search Connor’s face for any signs of discomfort, reminding him of a very earnest, oversized puppy. He smiles and shakes his head.

“No, it’s just good wine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Markus says then, barely having touched half a glass. Connor frowns at him for a moment, but he answers the question before it comes: “I’m driving, remember?”

Right. That’s probably a good thing to remember, especially considering Connor loves to sit at Markus’ side while he drives— there’s something about that focused look he gets that makes Connor want to do things that would result in accidents, for sure.

He’s still in that state of mind when Markus pulls over, not too far from campus.

“Well… this is it.”

 _This is bullshit._ Connor’s mind supplies they’ve been going out together almost every other day and the most passionate contact they’ve had still was when he practically jumped Markus in his house. He doesn’t have any lectures tomorrow, there’s one shoot in the afternoon but that’s it.

If any night was _the_ night, this would be it.

He licks his lips and takes a deep breath, looking over to Markus from under his eyelashes.

“Why don’t you ask me if I want to come over to your place?”

Markus’ eyes come alight with a spark he can’t suppress, no matter how hard he tries. “Connor—”

“What? You always ask me about the things I want… this is no different.” It might be testing his luck, but Connor reaches a hand over to Markus’ knee. “Of course, this is something _you_ have to want too, before we do anything about it.”

“Jesus…” Markus laughs at the idea of the guy who’s nearly a decade his junior worrying about _his_ consent. “Right… well, if you want me to drive us safely to my place, that hand will not go any further than that until the keys are out of the ignition.”

“Does that mean it can _stay_ there, though?”

Markus’ hands tighten on the steering wheel and Connor wonders if it’s normal to feel jealous of a car.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

That’s a flattering thing to say –it brings a smirk to Connor’s face. “Hopefully not tonight.”

The older man glares at him slightly, but it’s more of a challenging look than any sort of actual reproaching, and just takes a deep breath in and out –giving Connor a lovely view of his chest rising and falling underneath the pristine suit– and starts the engine.

It turns out to be more of a challenge for Connor to keep himself from letting his hands wander than it is for Markus to drive with the constant warm touch on his right leg.

Still, Markus does let out a sigh of relief once they’re safely parked in his garage, momentarily letting his head fall back against the headrest, eyes closed.

If asked, Connor would say that he was just begging to be kissed.

After all, Markus kisses back, and even cards a hand through his hair, turning and tilting his head so they have better access to each other… he only stops Connor when he feels hands go for the buttons of his shirt.

“Wait—”

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to get your car dirty, or so help me God—”

“What? No!” the low chuckle and the fact that Markus’ mouth is still against Connor is very promising, despite the interruption. “It’s just not a very comfortable car to do this in. Even if we slip into the backseat, it’s quite cramped.”

“Hmmm… did you not think the purchase through, when you bought it?” Connor teases, tossing a look at the car interior and silently convening that yes, maneuvering around in here would be a bitch.

“Quite the contrary, it’s one of the first things I bought after becoming a CEO and still my pride and joy… I just didn’t think anyone would want to have sex with me in it.” Markus admits that with such candor that it almost makes Connor wonder what makes such an undeniably gorgeous person think there will ever be a time when people would _not_ find them attractive.

Then again, _he_ is a model and he never thought himself looking _that_ good, so it might be a pot and kettle situation.

“You thought wrong.” He whispers, mouthing a little line along Markus’ jawline, “And I’m no stranger to cramped spaces, so… why should I stop kissing you again?”

“Because if we stop long enough there’s a nice, comfy large bed waiting just upstairs?”

That does sound good. Better than good, even, especially considering Connor is riding on less than four hours of sleep because he was up late studying last night. "…Fine.”

Out of the car and into the house –Markus doesn’t like calling it a mansion even though that’s exactly what it is– Connor wastes no time getting his lips on the other’s as soon as the front door closes.

“Are you really going to make me do this?”

Admittedly, walking while you’re also kissing someone and trying to relieve them of their clothes is not the easiest thing in the world, but Markus’ question has an obvious direction and Connor really hopes he’s reading his intentions right when he feels the other’s hands go to rest on his thighs, just under his buttcheeks.

“Do what?” he asks, playing along.

“This.”

With only a small sound of effort at the back of his throat, Markus lifts Connor by the thighs, guiding him to wrap both legs around his waist. Connor dutifully also wraps his arms around Markus’ neck, to avoid falling and to make the maneuvering easier.

A couple minutes of slightly unsteady walking up the stairs, Connor falls on a mattress with perfect softness and firmness ratio, bouncing a little at being basically dropped there –he still dragged Markus down with him, what with his hands still being clasped behind the other’s nape.

“So… I was right about those muscles gains.” Connor teases, idly running a foot up and down behind Markus’ thigh.

“We’re lucky I can navigate this place with my eyes closed.” The other breathes against his neck, resting both elbows on the mattress at the sides of Connor’s face. “Are you sure you want to do this? I haven’t even offered you—”

Connor cuts him off by placing his fingertips over his lips. “You’ve already bought me dinner, Markus.” He says, with a firmness he didn’t think he’d have in this situation, “What I really want now is _dessert_.”

To avoid any misunderstandings, he emphasizes the word by bucking his hips upwards into Markus’. The low and slightly breathless “oh _God_ ” that it prompts goes down as a victory in Connor’s books –along with the fact that, judging from the hard friction he finds, Markus is actually just as worked up as he is.

Markus closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against Connor, before opening them again and pulling back just slightly. Their gazes meet, and finding no trace of uncertainty in the other’s expression, Markus finally nods.

“Okay, then.” He brings his hands down to Connor’s sides and drags him further up the mattress, before following and leaning down for another kiss.

Finally with full reign to undress, Connor immediately gets himself busy with opening Markus’ shirt and slipping his hands underneath it.

“Has anyone told you you’re stronger than you look?”

Markus sits back with a grin, just long enough to shrug off both shirt and blazer and toss them aside. “Physically, or emotionally?”

Connor doesn’t dignify that with an answer, opting instead to sit up to get rid of his own sweater, wasting exactly no time before his hands are on Markus’ belt.

He does appreciate how Markus is trying to pamper him, even with this— one of the man’s hands is at the side of his face, cradling his cheek gently and a thumb brushing softly against his lower lip, even as Markus leans to the side to rummage in a bedside drawer.

It doesn’t surprise Connor at all— not only it’s what any decent person would go for, Markus is also very much the type to play it extra safe.

The one thing that piques his curiosity is the fact that Markus is staring at the small square for a good few seconds –then it catches up to him: “Are you… checking expiration dates?”

“Like I’ve said… it’s been a while.” Markus admits, somewhat sheepishly, while Connor remembers that the CEO needs glasses to read tiny fonts up close.

“Give me that.” He feels a disproportionate rush of fondness at the silliness of it all. “Let’s see… July 2020. I’d say we’re good to go, unless your endurance is _that_ good.”

They both burst out laughing at that.

“Damn, now you have me worried about disappointing you.”

Connor has already gotten his hands down Markus’ pants again, and very nearly moans just at the sight, once he finally gets a feel of the other’s cock.

“Unlikely.” Is his reply to Markus’ concerns, while he drags his free hand leisurely down Markus’ arm, until he reaches the other’s wrist to tug it forward and towards his own jeans. “Come on, the sooner I get naked the sooner I have you inside me.”

“God, the things you say, _fuck_ …”

That’s possibly the first time Connor ever heard Markus swear. For some reason, it’s even more of a turn-on. Feeling his arousal finally free of the constraint of his jeans, Connor moves his hand to grab at Markus’ ass and tug him closer –goddamn it all if it doesn’t feel like it was sculpted out of marble.

Not for the first time, Connor feels like he hit the jackpot with this guy.

Markus’ hands feel warm on his body, one goes around his back to rest between his shoulder blades, the other hesitantly, almost reverently circles his dick. Connor was not aware it was possible to jack someone off with _reverence_.

“Wait… let me…” He has to stop Markus at one point, because while what they’re doing already feels amazing, that’s not the way he wants to come.

He slips the condom on the glorious cock waiting for him and thanks whatever deity this would fall under that condoms come more of less lubricated, because he’s _aching_ for it and does not have the patience to wait for any more foreplay.

“You really want it this way?” Connor knows Markus is asking if he wouldn’t prefer to top –which is hot and very inviting, definitely something to keep in mind for the future– but he can’t help the amusement out of his voice.

“What about what _you_ want?”

“That can come later—”

“Bad choice of words.” God, he hasn’t had this much fun while having sex in… ever. Being able to laugh his way through it is surprisingly refreshing. He leans back on his elbows, offering himself up to the other in a way that cannot possibly be mistaken. “Seriously though. What’s making you doubt? My legs still wrapped around your waist or the fact that I’m so hungry for your cock that I slipped a condom on you one-handed?”

Finally, a genuine chuckle from Markus. It’s warm, pleasant, and reverberates through his chest in a way that brings Connor’s attention to it –he can’t wait to get his tongue all over those freckles.

“Alright. Convinced.” Markus concedes, leaning forward and over him for a quick kiss before dragging his mouth down Connor’s neck. “Ready when you are.”

“Oh, I’ve been ready for a _while_.”

When Markus slowly starts to enter him, Connor is already biting his lip so hard that he could nearly draw blood –Markus distracts him from the passing discomfort by keeping one hand at the side of his neck, gently caressing a thumb over his cheekbone, while with the other he gives some overdue attention to Connor’s arousal in slow, soft strokes.

Connor can feel Markus has stopped before going all the way in and he appreciates it –Markus is definitely not a little boy by any stretch of the definition, so the time to adjust himself and catch his breath before continuing is very much welcome.

He meets Markus’ eyes and nods at him to continue. “More.”

Markus is all too happy to oblige, and he starts moving back and forth, going a little further in each time. The sensation of being slowly and lovingly filled up is already making Connor lose his mind. His hands paw helplessly at Markus’ shoulders and back, digging his nails in more and more when the other starts slowly picking up the pace.

“Oh _fuck_ … Markus…” Connor throws his head back on the pillows when he feels the other’s mouth go down on his chest –there will probably be a bite mark, but it’s well below the collar so it won’t interfere with his shoots. Not that he would care right now, quite the opposite: all of a sudden, the mental image of being visibly marked or, even better, of Markus visibly showing off the signs of what they’re doing fills his head; and oh god, it makes this even hotter somehow.

Markus brings his lips back up towards his, mouthing soft praises against his skin the whole time. “God, you’re so beautiful…”

“You’re— ah— not too bad yourself…” Connor feels himself lifted slightly, while Markus is still inside him, and one of Markus’ hands wraps around the small of his back for support, while the other arm braces on the mattress at the elbow, just beside Connor’s head.

Just like that, Markus is going harder and deeper, so much so that one of Connor’s hand slams down on the bed and closes in a fist around the sheets. He stops caring about being loud and lets himself moan like there’s no one else around in a 50 mile radius.

All the time, Markus is still whispering to him. “Maybe… but you’re beautiful even while taking cock up your ass. It takes a special kind of gorgeous for that.”

There’s just something about the usually prim and proper man whispering filthy things into his ears, however mixed with sweet nothings they might be, that sets Connor off even more.

Well, that, and the fact that Markus is literally pounding him into the bed like a jackhammer.

It doesn’t take much longer for him to come undone under the sheer intensity of everything. He spills himself over his stomach and tightens his leg around Markus’ waist while the other keeps thrusting into him a little while longer, calling him beautiful and perfect in between gasps and moans of his own.

Connor feels Markus stutter in his movements and tense up as he comes; all the while sending delicious shivers over his sated and oversensitive body. He gets the wind slightly knocked out of him when Markus relaxes all of a sudden and practically flops down on top of him, but it just rips a breathless chuckle out of him.

Markus’ quiet “Sorry” makes matters worse in terms of giggles.

“Oh, you have _nothing_ to apologize for, I assure you.” He manages to say, while lifting his hips to help Markus along as he carefully pulls out, “That was…”

Not knowing how to properly convey his feelings, Connor leaves the sentence hanging, which gets a fond smile out of Markus.

“Well, it’s not July 2020 yet, but it was something alright.” He jokes, bending down to kiss Connor softly on the lips, “Stay here, I’ll go to the bathroom and get something to clean us up.”

“I’m not going anywhere for at least five hours.”

There’s a flattering remark. Markus looks at Connor with something akin to wonder, then shakes his head and sighs before going to the bathroom.

In the meantime, Connor makes himself comfortable on the nice king sized bed, turning on his side and running a hand over the sheets…

…the nice, silk sheets that are most likely ruined, now.

When Markus comes back from the bathroom, wet towel in hand, he’s fully nude, and the veritable vision distracts Connor enough that the thought escapes him for a second, only to return when Markus carefully removes his shoes, socks, and finally takes off his trousers and underwear all the way too, to help him clean up.

“Shit, Markus, I’m so sorry…”

For his part, the man seems at a loss. “What for?”

“I’ve ruined your fancy sheets.” Connor points out, embarrassment evident in his voice.

Markus seems genuinely touched that he would at all care. “Oh, Connor…” he almost coos, carding a hand through the other’s hair affectionately, “You don’t have to worry about it. For one, sheets are made to sleep in. They get dirty sometimes, and they can be replaced… second, silk is tougher than people give it credit for. One visit to the dry cleaner’s and they’ll be good for round two.”

The implications of that last bit and the wink Markus shoots him are definitely not lost on Connor –he was definitely right about Markus having a hidden wild side, and he can’t wait to see more of it. He still feels weird about coming all over a set of bedsheets that’s easily worth a week’s salary, but Markus seems sure that it’s fine, so he brushes it aside, opting instead to return the man’s much appreciated after-glow ministrations.

They shuffle around until they’re side by side under the sheets and Connor can reach out a hand to caress Markus’ brow, just along his scar.

So far, the stories on how that happened ranged from epic martial arts fights to surviving an explosion –Connor always called bullshit, and Markus always told him that the real story is too dull and boring to live up to the mystery… but he kind of wants to know.

“So… how did this really happen?” He likes the idea of Markus telling him and _only_ him. Because he’s special.

Instead of launching in an epic tale as usual, Markus lets his chest rise and fall in a content sigh and leans more into Connor’s touch. “You really want to know?”

Connor smiles.

“Yes.”

“Alright…” Markus sighs, tangling his fingers in Connor’s free hand and resting it against his own chest, “I was 5. My dad had put one of those swings in his garden that you can tie to trees, you know?”

“No way, you played on swings like a common mortal?”

Markus takes the jab gracefully and with a soft chuckle, before continuing the story: “My brother and I started goading each other over who could go higher…”

“Uh-oh…”

“Yeah, I always was an overachiever _and_ a moron.” The man says, not without some grim amusement, “The thing is, _actual_ swing sets have just the one bar, so idiots like me swing all the way around and fall to the ground… trees have _branches_.”

It takes a second for the concept to sink in, but when it does Connor physically grimaces and brings a hand to his own temple. “Oh _ouch…_ ”

“Precisely. There was enough blood to make everyone worried that I’d lost the eye. A few inches to the left and I probably would’ve.” He explains, tracing his own scar, “As is, the impact just bruised me badly and damaged my eye enough to lose pigmentation and impair my vision slightly. I got lucky.”

“Lucky? It must have been terrifying and painful…” Connor objects, turning towards him fully, “I wouldn’t exactly call going through that as a 5 year old child ‘lucky’…”

“I guess it’s a matter of perspective. It could have been better, but it could also have been a lot worse.” Still, the fact that Connor would at all make that objection on his behalf warms Markus’ heart, and he cradles the other closer to his chest. “Promise not to tell anyone? It would kill my aura of mystery.”

Connor burrows deeper into the embrace and exhales, content to close his eyes and just stay there. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“How about we get some rest, now?”

“Mm-mmh.”

The last thing Connor feels, before succumbing to sleep, is Markus’ lips leaving soft kisses on his forehead.

 

Come morning, Connor wakes up late, well-rested and with a tell-tale feeling in his lower back that reminds him of just how _good_ his night was. He’s alone in the bed, but it doesn’t surprise him— Markus probably has already gone out for work.

What does surprise him is the bright green post-it note that has been taped to his left hand without him noticing –he blames it on the bed; it’s so comfortable it should be illegal.

_\--Connor,_

_Had to leave early for work. Feel free to make yourself at home.  
   There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom and all the toiletries are at your disposal._

_Markus_

 

It’s a small gesture, but it still makes him smile. He sits up slowly and looks around –now that he’s not stumbling around in the dark and preoccupied with undressing Markus he can look around and appreciate the room’s refined décor… until his eyes fall on the bedside table.

There’s a set of what looks like comfortable clothes for the home, and another post it on top of them:

 _\--Feel free to choose something else from my wardrobe if you don’t like this._  
_I’ve taken the liberty to put your clothes in the washer and_  
_have something else delivered for you to wear._  
_Should come around 11:30._

 

Wow, ok. So Markus’ solution to Connor not having packed an overnight bag is to simply buy him more stuff, because why not?

He should probably start getting used to this.

He would have been fine with wearing yesterday’s clothes, even if it meant Simon calling him out once he’d return to campus… but he shakes his head –Markus is being considerate in what probably is the only way he knows how.

Going to the bathroom, he finds another post-it note, attached to the mirror:

_\--You’re still beautiful._

 

My God, what a dork.

It still makes Connor smile, and he still puts the post-it note aside with the others to keep.

Having been told to make himself at home, Connor enjoys a nice warm shower and wears the sweatpants and t-shirt Markus had left out for him, enjoying the texture of high quality cotton on his skin.

No matter how much he takes his sweet time with it, he inevitably finds himself with nothing to do.

Time for some snooping around, then.

The first thing he does is open the wardrobe door to sneak a peek at Markus’ clothes collection and—

...there’s another post-it.

 _\--Like I said, pick anything you want._ _♥_

 

Whoops. That’s a little embarrassing –either Markus knew he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to poke his nose around, or he was serious about the clothes thing. It could be one or the other, really.

Connor shakes his head to himself. This guy will drive him crazy, one of these days.

Maybe he should stop being a nosy little prick and help himself to some breakfast, instead. He goes downstairs slowly, marveling at every little detail and enjoying the soft carpet under his bare feet, and eventually reaches the kitchen.

There’s a full pot of coffee already there with yet another goddamn post-it, luckily this one just says _‘Drink me!’_ and another one on the fridge reminding him again that he can use whatever he wants and not to skip breakfast, since it is _‘the most important meal of the day!’_.

Connor makes himself some scrambled eggs and a toast, taking some sort of red fruit juice out of the fridge as well, all the while trying to stifle the butterflies in his stomach at the sheer domesticity of it all.

Fuck, this is way too good to be true, and he’s already in _deep_.


	5. Crashing down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should stop thinking about this altogether. Markus cares for him, and Connor cares in return. It should be as simple as that. Everything else is unimportant. It should be easy to dismiss.
> 
> …It’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ALIVEEEEEEE
> 
> I also tried to write the whole ending in one chapter but that was way too long so enjoy the sort-of cliffhanger but not really, the last chapter is coming and I'm almost done I promise. Possibly it will even come within today.
> 
> Pls love me.

 

“Simon, I’m freaking out!!!” Connor just about explodes as soon as his roommate picks up the phone, “You have no idea how fancy this place looks!!!”

_«Gloating is unsightly, even through the phone.»_

“I’m serious, man, I’m scared to touch anything, lest I break it!!!” Knowing Simon is just pulling his leg a little, Connor does not stop freaking out. “I asked Markus to take me home with him last night and he did and I’m in his bedroom, wearing his clothes and—”

From the other end of the line, his roommate interrupts: _«Quick question: is he really that big? Daniel used to say—»_

“Simon, I’m having a full blown _gay panic_ over here and you’re trying to gossip about my not-boyfriend’s dick?!”

_«You’re in his bedroom, wearing his clothes, and you still think he’s not your boyfriend?»_

That makes Connor finally slow down a little. His shoulders sag and he sits back down on the soft-but-not-too-soft king sized mattress.

“Yes? No? I don’t know, we haven’t really… talked about it.” He says, more uneasy than he’d like to admit about the whole thing. “For all intents and purposes, Markus seems content to _act_ like a boyfriend… he buys me dinner, takes me home, leaves cutesy little post-its around…”

 _«He does what?»_ Simon asks briefly, _«God, what a dork…»_

It makes Connor smile for a moment.

“I know, right?” He’s looking at one of them right now, brushing his thumb over the nice handwriting— goddamn it all, even his penmanship is beautiful. “He’s having fresh clothes delivered for me before I go to work for today’s shoot, since I didn’t pack an overnight bag.”

_«Spur of the moment thing?»_

He’s suddenly glad Simon can’t see him get redder than a tomato. “I dare you to blame me.”

 _«No blame at all from me.»_ the other assures over the line, _«Hell if you ask me, you’re living your best life right now. Hot, considerate boyfriend, nice things, good part time gig…»_

“That’s the problem!!!” Connor eventually exclaims, standing up from the bed in a small fit, even though no one is there to see it. “Am I supposed to just… take this?!”

_«Well, if too many gifts make you uncomfortable, you’re free to tell Markus to stop at any time. I’m sure he would.»_

He probably would. But Connor has to wonder whether that would be an even worse insult to the man’s kindness compared to uneasy acceptance.

It’s more than that, though.

Markus looks just _so happy_ to have someone to care for, someone who _lets him_ … Connor doesn’t really enjoy it that much, but he’d feel like an asshole to take all of Markus’ loving attention and tell him he should _pipe it the fuck down_.

“I don’t know, I don’t wanna—” the doorbell ringing rips Connor from his train of thought. He sighs into the receiver. “I have to go, the delivery people are here. I’ll see you when I’m back from work?”

_«Sure thing, buddy... But—»_

Connor doesn’t hear that Simon was about to say something else, panicking as he was to hurry up and open the door while still trying not to look like a _kept boy_.

In hindsight, the delivery courier could not give any less shits about who signs for the package and whether or not they’re fucking the homeowner, as long as the delivery gets signed for.

He opens the box to find deceptively simple looking [white jeans and a striped blue hoodie](http://www.mensdesignerclothing.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2018/02/armani-exchange-spring-summer-2014-campaign-photo-002-800x581.jpeg), and upon touch the quality of the fabric and the expert craftsmanship are much more obvious. Markus was courteous enough not to hazard buying him underwear –Connor is more than happy to make do with yesterday’s, since it got flung away long before things got ‘dirty’.

But _man_ , the socks feel nice.

Again, the traitorous thought that he did nothing to deserve this comes to mind: even _if_ he was to put it cynically and say Markus gets sex out of their situation, it’s not like it’s a chore for Connor— he’s been thirsting after the man since day one, so the sex is really just another bonus for _him_ , too.

No, he should stop thinking about this altogether. Markus cares for him, and Connor cares in return. It should be as simple as that. Everything else is unimportant. It should be easy to dismiss.

…It’s not.

 

But he will try, for Markus’ sake. He shakes himself out of the spiraling insecurities and dons the nice outfit, to get ready for work and leave. On the way out, he sees the gardener’s truck pull up to the house’s front gates –right, it’s a Friday. Markus introduced him to Ralph one time before heading out for lunch… Connor still isn’t quite sure the guy is right in the head, but he seems very eager to make Markus happy and to genuinely love plants. Out of politeness, Connor never asked about the huge scar on the side of the blonde’s face and Markus never brought it up.

At the shoot, Elijah definitely sees the bite marks down his collarbones, but he doesn’t ask.

He just slaps some professional concealer on them. “Just in case, since you have a deep V-neck scheduled for today.”

That’s literally the end of it. The stylist doesn’t ask him who it is from, doesn’t give any indication that he knows and does not appear to judge him.

Not for the first time, Connor wishes everyone could be as open minded as Elijah Kamski.

The shoot itself is uneventful and Markus doesn’t make an appearance until the very end, dropping by to announce that it’s that time of the year and some of the catalog pieces from two seasons past are going on the staff sale and whoever wants to get something can log into the staff website with their work email anytime during the next three days.

Blessedly, the CEO doesn’t treat him any differently in front of their colleagues –Connor doesn’t know whether it’s out of any necessity to ‘hide themselves’ or just a simple matter of maintaining decorum and a proper time and place for things, but he’s still grateful not to be put on the spot.

At the end of the day, he’s just heading out of receptions and sees the guy at the desk shutting down the lights as well.

“Hey, Jerry.” He waves, “Are we the last ones out?”

“Almost! Kara just left, but Markus is probably still in his office…” it’s been a hard Friday, and even the usually energetic redhead looks ready to drop, “Hey, do you think you could do me a solid and go tell him to actually leave the office? This one time last year security found him sleeping at his desk during the morning checks and they nearly called the cops on their own CEO.”

That’s it, Connor will never let Markus lecture him about overworking ever again.

He smiles at Jerry with a nod. “Go home, I’ll make sure the boss locks up.”

“Thank you, I owe you one!”

Glad that the elevator lights are always on and that his keycard does have access to Markus’ floor, Connor goes up to the CEO’s office.

His feet stop at the door for a second— he’s never been there before. No sounds are coming out, so Markus is either concentrating very hard on his work or actually sleeping. It’s barely past eight in the evening, but it suddenly dawns on Connor’s mind how early Markus must have woken up to prepare all the stupid post it notes, arrange for clothing to be delivered to him, put his old clothes into the washer, _and_ leave a full pot of coffee.

Silently urging his mind not to go there, he knocks twice and then opens the door.

The scene that he’s greeted with has no business being so adorable. Blazer forgotten over an empty chair, Markus is in his [light blue suit](https://images.riverisland.com/is/image/RiverIsland/300649_main?%24ProductPageZoom%24&locale=fr), with his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, slumped forwards on his desk with what looks like a stack of unfinished paperwork under his chin and his laptop on standby mode.

“Hey. Wakey-wakey.” He nudges Markus in the shoulders a bit. “Come on, you don’t want security to find you tomorrow morning and think somebody killed you, do you?”

That makes the CEO snap up pretty fast. “That only happened once!”

Something in Connor’s face surely betrays his amusement, because just as soon as Markus shot up in surprise his back muscles relax and he finds the other with his gaze.

“Hey, there.” He rubs a hand under tired mismatched eyes and Connor just shakes his head.

“You do know you just lost lecturing privileges, do you?” Markus’ only response is a chuckle, and Connor rolls his eyes and grabs the blazer off the chair. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

Markus stretches with a groan before he actually gets up from the chair and stops at the door to lightly nuzzle Connor’s neck.

“Where would I ever be without you?”

“Sobbing in your silk handkerchiefs, I’m sure.” Connor teases, leading the both of them out and towards the parking lot. “Are you good to drive?”

Surprisingly, the CEO actually pauses to think about it.

“You know… I don’t think I am.”

Well, shit. If he’s actually admitting to it he must have been putting in more hours than he admitted to. _Definitely_ not allowed to lecture Connor on working too hard ever again. It’s messed up, but at least it seems like Connor is getting his wish of being the one to take care of Markus, for once.

Though it’s ridiculous that it only happens because this idiot burns himself out.

Again, just shoving that _the fuck_ down.

“I’m sure we can call you a cab, or—” he doesn’t get to finish pondering his options, because he gets a set of keys thrust into his hands.

…Or they could do that, sure.

Except Connor only got his license a few years ago and it’s been a while since he last drove a car, what with not being able to afford one and all that. And Markus is trusting him with a goddamn _Maserati Alfieri_?

“How about you take my baby for a spin, instead?”

“Markus, I—”

“I promise I won’t try to distract you with teasing fondling while you drive.”

Oh, the sheer _nerve_.

“Fine.” Connor eventually huffs. He can leave his bicycle here and just call a cab home. “I take no responsibility for any scratching or denting of your precious _baby_.”

“Duly noted.” Markus chuckles and gets into the passenger’s seat. “Now let’s see how you handle fast cars, Mr. Future Detective.”

Realistically, considering they’re in an urban area with small streets and lots of traffic lights, Connor will likely not even scratch the surface of the car’s potential in terms of speed, but it’s the thought that counts.

Markus actually naps through the ride home, and Connor has to wake him up again to get him to open the garage door. He was terrified for the whole drive, but he actually managed pretty well –not that it makes him any less happy for the ride to be over: Markus isn’t the type to obsess over his car, but Connor’s conscience will rest easier with _out_ causing damage to a car that’s easily a hundred thousand dollars and then some.

Shuddering at the mere thought, he focuses on walking Markus inside and tucking him into bed.

Watching the man undress and get into a tank top and sweatpants is especially hard, no pun intended. Once he’s ready, Markus takes both of Connor’s hands in his own and smiles a tired but loving smile.

“Thank you.”

He sounds so sincerely grateful even though Connor just… existed, and agreed to make a 20 minute drive, it still doesn’t sit right with the younger man. “It’s really nothing…”

Markus shakes his head with closed eyes even as he gets guided under the covers. “It’s everything.”

For the life of him, Connor doesn’t get it.

“Let’s get you to bed. I’m off tomorrow, but I _will_ call Kara to know what you’re up to, if you make me worry.”

Any further reprimands die in Connor’s throat, as Markus leans up and kisses him slow and deep.

Connor enjoys every second of it, lapping up the man’s attention and chasing his tongue and lips for a moment after they pull away.

He wants to stay so bad.

But the last thing Markus needs is _more_ activity and he could use a good rest too.

They’ll have plenty of time to pick up where they left off after the Sunday shoot.

“Goodnight, Markus.”

 

Simon giggles like a schoolboy during the recounting of the whole thing.

Connor expected the high-pitched squeals, but there’s an alarmingly low amount of friendly teasing from North. It honestly freaks him out when she turns to him, deadly serious:

“Are you unhappy?”

For a second, he can do nothing but blink owlishly. “…What?”

She stares hard at him and elaborates: “If you’re having doubts and second thoughts, you should tell this Markus guy.”

“That’s… North you were the one raving about the whole stupid sugar daddy meme… are you trying to say it’s bad for me to actually care about Markus because he’s rich?”

She recoils at the question, briefly setting her books aside and leaning more towards Connor from her cross-legged position. “No! I’m just saying… it doesn’t really sound like you guys are communicating enough.”

“You’d be surprised at how many times Markus constantly asks me what I want.”

Connor’s words do get a small smile out of her, but she shakes her head. “Maybe, but you guys are in a very delicate situation, you can’t go on assuming for certain you’re on the same page and bottle things up just for the sake of not hurting one another’s feelings!”

Simon has been silent the whole time, but he eventually sighs. “You should probably listen to the Psychology major, Connor.”

 _That_ makes him blink in surprise. “Aren’t you the one who’s been telling me how great of a guy Markus is the whole time?”

“He is! But however great he is, he isn’t perfect… and he definitely cannot read minds.”

Okay, that’s a fair thing to say. Connor could try and tell Markus he prefers to keep a… lower profile. His little social experiment around campus about how a change in style and attire changes the way people perceive you and can result in bias is going well; and he’s been able to dodge questions about how it started so far.

He nods to Simon and they lay the topic to rest for the time being and instead enjoy the rest of their lunch together.

 

Markus offers minimal protest to his request, briefly joking that any ‘lower’ of a profile and they’d have to pretend not to know each other, but he assures Connor that he’d never do anything to make him uncomfortable and that he can say it any time things feel overwhelming to him; and the next few days see him less flooded with expensive gifts or dinners, while Markus keep asking every time if he’s okay with whatever they’ll be doing.

If he was completely honest… Connor was expecting slightly more of a fight. Even something stupid, like _‘I’m your boyfriend, I like to pamper you a little, what’s wrong with that?’_ , but then again, they’ve never used the word boyfriend before, their relationship moving very slow and very tentative steps. Still, the ready acceptance with which Markus indulges his every whim, even in _not_ indulging him, sits wrong in Connor’s chest. It almost feels like less of a relationship and more of a _customer experience_.

He needs to talk about this to someone who isn’t biased towards _or_ against Markus.

“You still want pizza along with that scowl, kiddo?”

Which is what brought him to see his father for the night. Hank might not be the best person to go to for romantic advice, but he’s a smart man, and mercilessly blunt. It will be just what he needs to clear his head of all doubt.

Connor accepts the box with a small smile and they set it on the table together, his father asking the usual question about how uni is going, if he’s doing okay even with a part time job, the usual. Then comes the million dollar question:

“So… have you met anyone interesting?”

Understatement of the century. Connor bites at his lower lip. “You could say that.”

“Hmm-mm. Who’s the lucky guy?”

Connor has half a mind to say ‘me’, but manages to stop himself –it’s probably not a good idea to joke about the matter, not when he’s trying to get his dad to give him advice about a relationship with a man 7 years older than he is. “It’s… someone from the modeling agency I work at.”

All truth so far. He can do this.

The stretch of silence between them clues Connor in to the fact that Hank expects him to continue.

“He’s a little older than me, and…” he struggles for a second to choose words that will not incite panic, “And he’s _very_ well off. He buys me gifts, drives me around… would spoil me rotten if I let him.”

Hank raises an eyebrow slightly. He knows his son. “So… a full recipe for sounding ‘too good to be true’?”

“No! Maybe? I don’t know…” Markus has always done his best to be straightforward with him, at least about the things that they _do_ talk about, but for some reason it feels like Connor has barely scratched the man’s surface. “I just… feel like this… thing we have is— I don’t know, unbalanced? Markus has the best intentions and biggest heart I’ve ever seen on a person, but sometimes I get this feeling like I could be swapped out with any other broke college student to dump presents and affections upon, and it wouldn’t make a difference…”

“Yikes…” Hank actually makes a face at that. He takes a long swig out of his beer and sets it down on the table, swallowing thoughtfully before looking at his son. “Have you tried telling lover boy that?”

“It’s… not that easy. He’s got this earnest puppy dog look about him, I feel like an asshole for even thinking of accusing him like that…” It’s only partially true. Connor is scared, terrified even. Not only of what the answer to that question might end up being, but also that asking it in the first place would offend or even hurt Markus to the point of breaking them up.

And then goodbye secretive little looks at one another while they cross paths in reception, goodbye early morning or late night texts, goodbye cheesy post-it notes hidden in the sleeves of his clothes.

Funny how the things he’d miss are all the ones Markus doesn’t actually have to pay for.

“Look, Connor, I’m not the best person for this shit, considering how _my_ marriage went.” Hank snaps him out of his thoughts with a firm voice and a gentle hand on his shoulder, “But at some point you have to decide things that you can be ok with, and things that you can’t. It’s as simple as that.”

It’s too bad ‘simple’ doesn’t always coincide with ‘easy’.

Still, Connor takes his father’s words to heart; and the next time he sleeps over at Markus’ place he snuggles up to the other in bed and asks:

“Hey, Markus… are we boyfriends?”

Markus holds him a bit tighter, a thumb brushing gently back and forth on the skin of Connor’s forearm. “Do you want us to be boyfriends?”

“Don’t do that. Enough of babying me and having _me_ dictate everything about us.” Connor says, with a tone much firmer than one would expect when lying naked in bed with a man who just about sucked the soul out of him fifteen minutes prior. “Do _you_ want to be boyfriends?”

“I… didn’t want to pressure you—”

“I _begged_ you to suck me off on this very mattress. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t pressure me into anything if you tried.”

“Okay, first of all— _rude_.” Markus chuckles and Connor can feel the vibrations of his laugh through his chest –he instinctively snuggles up closer to it while Markus links their fingers together under the sheets. “Second… I’ve been trying to be a good boyfriend for a while now. So yes, I’d like for us to be boyfriends.”

Connor has to hold back a squeal of delight –it would be undignified for a future cop– but he does celebrate the upgrade in their relationship by climbing on Markus’ lap and demanding round two.

 

The next few weeks are basically a dream come true.

Markus continues to pamper Connor with gifts and expensive outings, but there’s a shift in the pattern: Connor finds himself at a fancy art gallery exhibition that he doesn’t necessarily care much for, but Markus asked him to go together because, apparently, he very much does care for art.

Markus’ likes and dislikes also start coming into play in what they do, and it finally doesn’t feel so wrong to Connor to accept being driven around in a luxurious car to expensive events if Markus is visibly enjoying himself too.

The sex is, if at all possible, even better.

Markus is still a kind and attentive lover, but now he doesn’t shy away from getting a little rougher and leaving marks, even though he still leaves them where no one will see them. Connor also discovers that he likes it when Markus pulls his hair a bit to make him arch and give it to him just the way he wants it.

Connor is, for lack of a better word, _happy_.

Which of course has to be the moment it all comes crashing down.

 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon, he’s just heading out of class and he will have to rush if he wants to make it to the agency in time for his shift. He’s wondering if he should preemptively text Markus that he might be some twenty minutes late, but the murmurs and voices around him make him look up from his phone.

There, parked just shy of being in front of the main building, there’s a very familiar Alfieri, and leaning against it there’s an even more familiar man in light grey dress pants, white button up and grey waistcoat –he never really tolerates jackets that long.

The stray thought almost distracts Connor from the much more pressing question of ‘what the hell is he doing here?’, but his minds reminds him of all the very good reasons why they agreed _not_ to meet on campus grounds when more than a couple college girls predictably gravitate around the very handsome man who just got out of the extremely expensive car.

Markus smiles at all of them like he’s on set and it looks like he answers some questions, at one point he even diplomatically sidesteps out of range of a girl particularly interested in the fabric of his waistcoat.

The whole scene makes Connor livid, and he picks up the pace towards him.

Still blissfully oblivious, Markus excuses himself from the ladies and clears a path for himself to try and meet Connor half way.

“Connor—”

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?!”

He definitely didn’t expect to be grabbed by the shirt collar and shaken around like an empty tin can. The confusion temporarily robs him of speech, but he tries putting his hands over Connor’s.

“I— I noticed you wouldn’t make it in time for your shoot and thought to come pick you up—”

“And then what? Maybe parade me around a little like the nicely wrapped _trophy_ I am?” Connor nearly snarls, his own self-doubt and insecurities all coming out together and all at once, “Maybe go back to your nice office and pat yourself on the back for another successful _charity project_? Is there an article on the horizon about the great Markus Manfred helping out struggling youth?”

“I don’t— I wouldn’t— …what?” Markus seems to be literally falling from the clouds, like he didn’t even imagine any of this was going on. “What the hell are you talking about? Charity project?! I’m your _boyfriend_ , you’re the one who wanted us to be more like a normal couple!”

“Nothing about us has ever been ‘normal’, Markus!”

“And you didn’t see fit to _tell me_? Jesus fuck, Connor, why do you think I’m constantly asking you if you’re okay with things?! You’re being unfair for no reason—”

“ _Don’t._ ” Connor hisses coldly, letting go of the older man and shoving him back towards his car, “Don’t act like you’re blameless. You were all too happy to live this puppy love fantasy where all you needed to do to prove your love was pile up more and more stupid gifts, like your love was directly proportional to how much money you could dump on me at once! You have no _idea_ what _really_ taking care of someone means.”

Eleven words. That one last phrase seems to hit Markus harder than any punch Connor could have thrown. He tries not to think about how much he hated his own words just now, still reeling with fury and with his own feeling of inadequacy.

Markus rubs at his scarred eye and takes a breath in, before swallowing thickly.

“I’m… sorry for causing you hurt. It was never my intention.” He says, clearing the small tremble out of his voice before continuing: “I promise you, our private situation will not affect your job and I will be personally responsible for the delay in today’s shooting. You won’t have to see my face ever again if you don’t want to.”

With that, Markus straightens his tie, turns back towards his car and opens the door.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”

Connor watches him drive off silently, caring surprisingly little about the people that witnessed their little scene. He makes a beeline for his bicycle and sends one text to Simon before pedaling off:

_» Shit went down. Have comfort food ready tonight._

 

True to Markus’ word, Connor doesn’t see hair or hide of him during the entirety of his shift. He leaves at six and the idiot will probably stay and work late as usual, so he has really no way to check on him after their big stupid fight.

He feels weak for even wondering if Markus is alright at all. This is his fault too –for all his talk at the beginning that he didn’t want their relationship to be a transaction, he sure seemed fine with letting the expenses pile up.

“Connor—” he hugs Simon tight as soon as he’s past his dorm door and breaks down in sobs like he hasn’t done since kindergarten.

Somewhere along that, Simon helps him shower and get into his pjs, then calls North so they can have a comfort food themed sleepover.

Connor finally opens up about all the things he had been feeling insecure about, all his doubts about whether Markus really loved him or if he was just showering him with affection because he had nothing else to fill the hole in his heart with; he mentions talking about it with Hank and his father’s advice…

North gets more and more angry with each word, but she’s especially pissed when she hears the recounting of their confrontation: “Wait so he didn’t even try to refute your words, he just said ‘sorry’ and left?!”

“Well… it doesn’t sound like Connor let him get a word in edgewise.” Simon, every the pacifying force, brings up a solid point, but North is having none of it.

“Bullshit! Seems to me like he had plenty of time to recover after Connor finished, and if you _really_ care about something, you _fight for it_!”

“Maybe he didn’t want to cause any more of a scene than he already did, knowing Connor would hate it—”

“ _Christ_ , Simon, whose side are you on?!”

“I’m too old to play at picking sides!” the blonde yells back, in a rare loss of his cool, before deflating and looking at Connor, “It sucks that you’re hurt, and I’m here for you… but, for what it’s worth, I don’t think Markus is a bad guy, and I’m sure he didn’t _mean_ to hurt you, even if he did.”

“Thanks, Simon.” Connor can understand that –Simon has been Markus’ friend for a long time, and he wouldn’t force him to just shit all over a long friendship just because _his_ relationship went south. “And I know he’s not a bad person, I just… everything was a ‘your wish is my command’ kind of thing, after a while it felt like Markus was just tailoring himself to my whims, to the point where I started wondering whether any of it mattered to him, if he could just adapt like that… he never argued, we rarely ever butted heads, he could solve just about any problem by throwing money at it. I started feeling just like an outlet for his compulsive provider complex… and I told him he’s got no idea how to actually care for someone.”

North scoffs. “Well, if his idea of caring is spending money on them until they don’t know what to do with it, you’re not wrong.”

Simon, instead, has fallen silent. “I’m… not surprised that he just drove away, if you told him that.”

“Why?” Something about the blonde’s tone makes Connor equal parts curious and worried, but Simon just shakes his head:

“It’s not my place to say. But that might have struck a nerve with Markus, and he protected himself by leaving.”

“Yeah, real fucking brave.” North has gone in full protective mama bear mode, and is hugging Connor from behind, “God, what an inconsiderate jackass! We should teach him a lesson! Where does he live?”

“North, _no_.”

They spend the rest of the night trying to dissuade North from her vengeful and increasingly more unrealistic plans –to her credit, they eventually become so far-fetched and silly that it ends up distracting Connor from heartbreak enough to crack a smile and even laugh.

 

No one treats Connor any differently at work, during the next few days. Either they don’t know anything that happened between him and Markus, or they do and they’re professional enough not to bring it up.

Chloe and Luther are as kind as ever, Kara smiles fondly at him when they walk up to the elevator together, his schedule and pay do not change, everyone still likes him and the people are still friendly and available for any help needed.

Days turn to weeks, and even Markus himself greets him politely, on the one time they just so happen to enter the building at the same time.

He says good morning to Connor, apologizes for bothering him, and scurries off to his office like a spooked horse. Considering many of the people here have known Markus much longer than Connor himself, he’d wager good money that they all know that something’s wrong with their boss, at the very least.

As far as Connor hears, Markus still pops around shoots to give pointers and help out, but he’s been steering clear of any shoots _he_ is a part of, likely to keep his promise to Connor.

Connor hates every second of it.

Even now, Markus refuses to acknowledge his own feelings and _argue_ , like a flesh and blood human being. It drives Connor crazy.

“You’re starting to get dark circles under your eyes.” Elijah comments, casually enough that it could be unrelated, as he gets Connor ready for the next photo set. “Are you sleeping ok?”

“Oh, you know, just… college stuff.” He tries to downplay it, mostly because he is not ready to have this talk.

The stylist just hums at Connor for a moment, turning to pick up a different brush. “Alright, let’s try that again but this time we pretend you _don’t_ think I’m a complete idiot.”

Ouch. Coming to think of it, Elijah saw the bite marks, _and_ he’s likely known Markus the longest.

Connor sighs. “I… don’t want to bring personal shit to work.”

“Yeah, neither does Markus. And yet, he came to work instead of taking the day off for the anniversary of his father’s death like he usually does, so obviously something is wrong.”

Elijah speaks with such a casual, matter-of-fact tone that Connor nearly misses it:

“Wait, his father died?”

The stylist nods. “Five years ago today. He’d just been made CEO of the agency and had a fuck load of things to redo from the ground up, I don’t know the ins and outs of it, but Markus tried his best to balance rebuilding a company from scratch and staying close to his dying dad. Carl’s health kept declining after the accident, and eventually… not even the round-the-clock caretaker Markus was forced to hire could prevent the inevitable.”

_“You have no idea what really taking care of someone means.”_

Oh. Shit.

Well, now Connor feels like a complete scumbag. But how could he have known? The most personal Markus ever got about himself was when he told Connor the real tale on how he got the scar… then again, when someone so resolutely avoids talking about themselves it is in and of itself a sign. Connor was just too blinded by the fact that Markus had everything he could possibly want to think that something might not be right— after all, what kind of problems could someone who’s good looking, rich and surrounded by friends have?

How naïve.

Connor swallows empty air. “Did— did his brother not help out?”

“Leo? He wasn’t even fully out of rehab at the time, he had a hard time even helping himself. To my knowledge they still don’t talk much, though not for lack of trying.”

_“You have no idea what really taking care of someone means.”_

Well this just keeps getting worse.

“He never mentioned any of this to me…” Connor is left staring into space for a moment while Elijah goes to the clothes rack to pick out his outfit.

“Yeah, he’s very fond of pretending everything is alright and that he doesn’t need any help or reassurance ever… he’s an idiot.” The stylist comments casually. He selects the clothes for Connor to wear and comes back to his charge, laying the outfit out on the vanity table. “He also developed a skewed perception of his worth as a person, and measures himself in terms of what he can _do_ for others rather than as a person with his own value.”

That’s Markus’ own problem to deal with, a part of Connor’s mind supplies, still angry.

Or he could have said something, anything at all. “He never talked to me…”

And yet… another side of his mind focuses on how hypocritical that sounds –after all, _he_ talked about his insecurities about their relationship to anyone _but_ Markus.

“This is going to sound really bad, but… did you ever give him any indication that you would listen?”

Elijah’s question makes Connor’s hands pause on his shirt buttons. Did he?

Surely he did. He must have— there was that first moment sitting at his piano… no, that was about his looks and his musical talent. There were all the texts they sent each other, though— no, they were mostly about times and places to meet up or him griping about schoolwork and Markus joking about his own workload to lighten him up…

Shit, the only time Connor ever genuinely asked Markus something about himself might have been the night Markus told him about his blue eye.

He goes back to his dorm after work feeling worse than he has in the past couple of weeks.

 

That same evening, just after nine, he gets a text from North, saying she’s got the perfect thing to cheer him up a bit, and then a picture of a driveway he knows all too well.

“Shit!” he can’t call her and risk getting her found, but he also can’t let her carry out whatever bullshit revenge she thinks could act as a catharsis.

With few other options, he swipes out of the text and dials his father’s number.

 

It’s not the first time North breaks a lock, though it is the first time she gets to see such a fancy car up close. An annoying trilling noise fills the place, and she knows she doesn’t have much time.

She quickly slashes three tires –two are easy to replace as a set and four are usually covered by insurance. Slashing three tires is the perfect ‘fuck you’ to the guy who couldn’t be bothered to talk his feelings out with his boyfriend.

“Who are you?! How did you get in?!”

A guy in a green polo shirt and black trousers nearly makes her jump out of her skin. “Crap!”

North tries to run past the guy, but he grabs her by the wrist and shouts for Markus.

This is definitely less than ideal. Just as North is contemplating the pros and cons of decking this dude and adding battery to her list of felonies for the day, a third voice echoes out in the garage, just as the alarm beeping gets shut off.

“What’s going on here?!”

“Markus! She did this!” the guy points at North and then at the Maserati with the visibly ruined tires.

“What?” His confusion is understandable, considering he’s never met North before, and she can clearly see his face going through the question of why a perfect stranger would want to slash his tires and what he could have possibly done to deserve it… but then he seems to connect the dots and just sighs: “Let her go, Ralph.”

Ralph listens, and it would be her cue to hightail it the fuck out of there, especially considering she’s still holding the pen knife and caught quite literally red-handed.

She doesn’t. Something about the resigned acceptance with which Markus just stood there and took the semi-gratuitous act of vandalism roots her to the spot.

“I was worried about you, Markus! I— I heard a noise and came to check— and then the alarm went off!”

Markus calms his gardener friend with a pat on the shoulder and a kind smile. “I know, Ralph. You did everything well. But it’s late. You should go home, now.”

Ralph looks worriedly between the two of them. “B-but she…?”

“She is going home too, don’t worry.” Markus assures, leading the other out of the garage and just leaving the scene fully open for North to flee. “I’ll see you next Friday, yes?”

North is still too dumbfounded to even think about running away, especially when Markus just turns to look at her after Ralph takes his leave and sighs.

“You must be North.”

She squashes down the awkwardness vehemently. “Does my reputation precede me?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Markus offers, continuing to walk out of the garage and towards the front door, “Simon already had his angry phone call with me about what the hell could I have been thinking, I was kind of wondering when the _other_ Power Ranger would show up.”

“Excuse me?”

Ever the perfect gentleman, Markus lowers his head. “Sorry, I guess I’m still a bit bitter.”

Connor was right, the endlessly people-pleasing attitude is infuriating. Still, Markus is surprisingly chill for a guy who just got his tires slashed.

“Do you want to come in and talk about it over drinks? Or ice cream?”

Ingrained instincts being what they are, North is quick to answer that: “I’m not following you anywhere!”

He doesn’t seem to take even _that_ personally. He just nods, looking out into his garden with tired eyes.

“I can call you a cab home, then, if you like?”

“Okay, I can’t do this shit, are you not the least bit curious as to why I broke in here and slashed three of your fucking tires???”

Markus shoots her a brief sidelong glance and scoffs at her, laughing bitterly in the night’s silence –it’s the most genuine and unrestrained he’s been so far.

“I’m guessing punishment for not treating Connor right? General contempt because I’m apparently an asshole? Overdue karma? Does it even matter? It’s done.”

She probably shouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, but she can’t help herself: “You could… press charges?”

“And add a lawsuit on top of all the shit I already have to do, just over a few stupid tires?” He shakes his head. He goes to put his hands in his pockets, only to realize that he ran out in a tank top and sweatpants and that those ones don’t have pockets. He brings a hand up to his scarred eyebrow instead. “I can just replace them. And we don’t know each other. I’m sure you had your reasons. Now, do you want that cab home, or not?”

This guy is just getting out of a break up, has no obligations to her other than the vague knowledge that she’s friends with his ex, just found her slashing his car tires… and he’s not only letting her off the hook, but also offering to call her a cab home?

Yeesh, Connor wasn’t kidding when he said there’s _kind_ and then there’s _Markus Manfred_.

The sound of a car approaching the driveway makes both of them jump.

North jumps twice as much, because it’s a police car.

“Shit.” Surprisingly, Markus is the one swearing. “Give me that.”

He snatches North’s pen knife and throws it in the shrubbery of his garden before the car gets close enough to see them clearly.

Is this happening? Is Markus going the full mile and actually covering for her with the cops?

When she sees Hank Anderson get out of the car, she doesn’t know whether to be relieved or scared— on one hand, the gruff old man will probably cut her some slack, on the other hand, if _he_ ’s here it means Connor called him.

“North. You’re a hair off course from your way home, aren’t you?”

Oh, she is _fucked_ , Hank knows. She’d be mad at Connor for ratting her out, if she hadn’t just witnessed firsthand how much Markus _doesn’t_ deserve to get his tires slashed by a random stranger who got pissy because he broke up with her friend.

“She was just lost. She missed the last bus and was just asking me for directions.” Markus steps in without fail, “Since you seem to know each other, maybe you could escort her home, sir…?”

Hank looks at Markus with a calculating gaze, but eventually takes the offered hand to shake it. “Anderson. Lieutenant Hank Anderson.”

Markus believes in coincidences as much as the next guy, but this is ridiculous, even for him.

North would laugh at his expression, but she’s still feeling way too awkward to do anything but stare.

“Right.” He bites down on his lower lip slightly and looks down for a spell, before clearing his voice. “Well. I’ve got work in the morning and the young lady probably should get back home safely. Plus, I’m sure you want to be on your way soon.”

“That happen tonight?” Hank asks instead, “I thought I heard an alarm on my way there.”

Markus does not miss a beat: “A malfunction, while miss North here was just stopping by to ask for directions. My car has been like that for a couple of days now, I made the mistake of driving it on unsuitable and damaged roads.”

“That so?” it’s a blatant lie to anyone with eyes, but if Markus is so intent on not pressing charges there’s not much Hank can do about it.

The Lieutenant bids Markus a good night and gets North in his car to take her back home.

“You look like someone pissed on your parade.” He tells her, glancing at her through the rearview mirror, “You should be grateful he let you off so easy.”

“He’s probably just doing it to get back in Connor’s good graces. Bet you anything he’s calling Connor right now to tell him how _good_ of him it was not to press charges against his crazy bitch friend!”

Hank has to laugh. With her arms crossed and expression twisted in a pout, she looks like a hot-tempered little girl throwing a tantrum. “Alright, you’re on. But if that’s not the case you stop pulling these stunts for at least a month.”

Good _God_ , ever since he's known her this girl has been a handful.

He’s getting too old for this shit.


	6. Starting over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor wipes at his tears with a wet chuckle. “And since when are you on the Markus bandwagon?”
> 
> “Since I met the poor sap.” North deadpans, “He’s just as much of a lost cause as you are.”
> 
> “Um, rude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE.
> 
> I am exhausted and tomorrow is my first day at my new job, but good God this was painful to extract from my stupid brain.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy the double update.  
> I'mma take the rest of the day off now.
> 
> ...it's seven p.m.
> 
> Pls love me. ♥

The rest of the drive to the dorms is silent, but Hank does convince North to stop by Connor’s room.

“What the hell happened?” he asks as soon as he opens the door.

“Like you don’t know already?”

Connor is genuinely confused. “I… don’t?”

“You’re telling me Mr Perfect hasn’t called you to tell you how he let me off easy even though I vandalized his car?”

“You _what?!_ ”

The first ever thing he bought after making CEO and his ‘pride and joy’. And North is here with _him_ talking about how she ruined it, instead of being held up in a cell for the night.

Either Markus is even more than a goody-two-shoes than he thought him to be, or he definitely lost his spark since their messy break-up.

“Well!” Hank’s voice rising in volume makes both look out to him. The Lieutenant has the patented ‘I’m too old for this shit’ look and is visibly tired. “No harm, no foul. I’ll be on my way. You kids keep your nose clean.”

As soon as Hank’s out, Connor sits North down on their ugly yellow kitchen chairs and demands: “Tell me _everything_.”

So North does. She wishes there could still be some way she could make Markus out to be the bad guy, but there’s really no spin to put on what happened tonight –North herself is still kind of reeling from the absurdity of it all.

When she’s done, Connor just brings both hands up to his temples and goes “Jesus, North, why?”

“I don’t know! It was a stupid spur of the moment thing; I wanted to cheer you up!”

“Yes, and an _act of vandalism_ is the perfect way to cheer up the guy who’s studying _criminal law_.” Well, when he puts it that way it does sound like a monumentally stupid idea. “Shit. Should I text him to apologize for your behavior? No, he probably doesn’t even want anything to do with me right now—”

“Hey, weren’t you the one who didn’t want anything to do with him and his stupid fancy shit anymore?”

“That doesn’t give you free reign to just go and violate his property!!!”

Finally, Connor has roared loud enough to wake up Simon.

“Can you guys keep it dow— Connor?”

For the second time in the same evening, North has to explain what happened, and Simon isn’t too happy with her either, especially since she couldn’t have picked a worse day to mess with his car –upon saying that, Connor lets out that he knows what Simon means, and now North gets to join the guilt train because she basically just went off at a man who was already feeling like a piece of shit for multiple reasons.

Simon advises Connor against texting Markus about tonight –he knows Markus better than to think he’d hold North’s actions against Connor, and the best thing to do for now is to just let sleeping dogs lie.

Though, eventually, they will have to break this pact of silence and sort their shit out, because seriously, no one is happy with this.

 

A few days later, Connor starts noticing a trend.

Missed calls from Markus’ number: not too many of them, but always from times just after starting classes or just before finishing them.

That’s right, Markus knows his schedule— which means he is intentionally calling at times Connor can’t pick up, because he’s still scared of the hypothetical confrontation. Part of him wants to call Markus a coward, but this is already more of an effort in reaching out than he ever did.

He hasn’t seen the Maserati Alfieri in the agency’s garage yet, so Markus either still hasn’t found a good enough explanation for his slashed tires or hasn’t had the time to buy new ones.

The man himself has practically turned into a ghost. He arrives to work before anyone else and leaves well after lights out— at least according to Elijah.

People around them are worried, but, with the exception of the resident head stylist, no one has any idea of what or who is causing such distress in their beloved ‘fearless leader’.

He’s just heading home one night when he hears voices from the studio adjacent to the one he had been in:

 

“—Listen, Markus, I know you’re hurting, but at some point you have to pick one choice, any choice!” Elijah? It sounds like him. “Either you try to patch things up, or you move on. It all boils down to choosing what you want to keep, and what you can let go.”

“Maybe I’m a bit tired of having to make that choice.”

Connor shouldn’t be listening in on this, but his stupid feet won’t move.

“I know, Markus, it sucks. And I get it. Connor is a sweet kid, and I wish it would work out between you… but that’s not a choice either of you can make alone, you _both_ have to want it.”

“I fucked it all up, Elijah.”

God, Markus’ voice sounds so dejected it physically hurts Connor.

“ _Everyone_ makes mistakes, Markus. The hard part is owning up to them. Why don’t you try talking to him?”

“I—”

“Sometime when you _don’t_ know he’s not going to pick up? Like now?”

Connor promptly puts his phone back on silent, just in case.

“He might not pick up regardless. He doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Then leave a message. At least you’ll be able to say you tried.”

The silence from the other side of the door makes Connor’s heart beat so damn fast he’s almost afraid they’ll hear it. His phone starts vibrating silently in his pocket, and he lets it.

It eventually goes to voicemail, and Markus takes a deep breath. “Hey... I'm sure you've noticed I've been trying to call you for a while... well, sort of. I'm just too much of a coward to face you...” if Connor has to be completely honest, that would make two of them –he’s been stubbornly refusing even thinking about sorting this out. He boxed up almost all the things Markus ever gave him, but didn’t have the courage to send any of them back, and only kept a few items out of necessity, like the nice sturdy backpack for school and the coat that actually keeps him warm when he has to cycle home in the rain. From the other side of the door, Markus continues. “I guess... I don't know. I wanted to hear your voice, even if this is the opposite, pretty much.... man, I always end up never shutting up for one second, do I?” The broken little laugh does nothing to cheer Connor up.

“It's like a fucking—” Markus’ voice cracks slightly, “A fucking chronic disorder, I'm an idiot and I make everything about myself...”

Nothing could be furthest from the truth. In all the time they spent together, Markus always asked about Connor and worried about him, revealing nothing about his own worries and insecurities, and he was just happy to take that. Connor would constantly worry about taking advantage of Markus financially, but he would have no qualms with taking advantage of him as a constant listening ear and emotional support, perfectly happy with accepting the notion that just because Markus never said anything it surely meant he had no worries at all.

“Either way... I just wanted to... apologize again, I guess. You're a good person and you didn't deserve to feel the way I made you.” Hearing this is all the more painful, now that Connor realizes their shared mistakes. “You were right, I don’t— I don’t really know how to take good care of people, I always worry I’m not enough, and tried to make up for my shortcomings by providing as much as I could for you. You were right to feel insulted; I’ve been a poor excuse for a lover.”

Oh the irony in that word –hadn’t he been trying not to cry, Connor could have appreciated it. As it is now, it takes all of his self-control not to storm in and beg for forgiveness himself.

“That's... that's all I wanted you to know. I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore; I know you need to study.”

It’s altogether too much. Connor picks himself up from where he had unknowingly slid down to sit on the floor against the wall and all but runs out of the building, not in the state of mind to care anymore whether his footsteps were heard or not.

 

“What do I do, Simon?” he asks anxiously, once his roommate hears the recording from his voicemail. “What do I do?”

Simon rubs at his temple, now understanding why Daniel used to do it so often. “You can do any number of things. You could have _stayed there and talked to Markus_.”

“He probably hates me by now…”

“Really? The man is here bemoaning that he is _not good enough for you_ and that’s the bullshit excuse you’re trying to feed me?” It would seem that everyone has their limits, even Simon, the proverbial mother hen and almost literal saint. “You wanna know what I think? I think you don’t want to have that conversation because it would mean admitting that you were wrong, too. That you acted judgemental and let Markus’ money matter more than his feelings, even though you did it in reverse. You were just as biased as the people from your social experiment, and it scares the hell out of you.”

Connor has nothing to say to that. It’s true. He did everything in his power to hide Markus for anyone who might have recognized him on campus, while Markus only kept things professional at the workplace and simply used him the courtesy of not running his mouth— Elijah clearly knew about them, but he’d be willing to bet Markus had him sworn to secrecy for _his_ sake.

He was so worried about the stigma of being the _kept boy_ of a rich boyfriend, as if Markus being wealthy was some sort of problem or chore that Connor had to endure as he still reaped the benefits of it, so worried about what would that say about _him_ that he never stopped to think about the fact that Markus might have simply not cared about money and just wanted him to be happy and feel loved.

Sure, Markus picked a shit way of showing it and he’s also at fault for not letting his own insecurities out in the open either… but relationships are a two way street.

Either of them could have said _anything_ , at _any_ point.

“You two should just man up and talk.”

Both Connor and Simon nearly jump out of their skin at North’s voice, but they know better than to ask when or how she got there.

Instead, Connor wipes at his tears with a wet chuckle. “And since when are you on the Markus bandwagon?”

“Since I met the poor sap.” She deadpans, walking further into their kitchen and helping herself to an entire carton of orange juice, “He’s just as much of a lost cause as you are.”

“Um, _rude._ ”

Simon clears his voice slightly. “She’s not wrong, you know?” he asks, grabbing Connor’s phone off the table and starting a call.

“Simon! What the fuck are you doing?! It’s well past midnight there’s no way he’ll pick up—”

“Good. Then you can leave a message too, and you have no excuse to flake out.”

The dial tone eventually goes to voicemail and _God_ , even the pre-recorded message of his answering machine sounds so good.

“Um… hey, Markus.” He starts lamely, while Simon gives him double thumbs up and North visibly face-palms. “I, uh… I got your message and I wanted to say… I’m sorry too. I talked a lot of shit without knowing what I was even saying, and I was unfair to you.” It actually feels good to get things off his chest –for a moment, Connor tries to imagine how much healthier their relationship would have been if they had talked like this from the beginning. “If you— if you still wanna talk to me, we can… maybe meet up and talk things out?” He looks desperately to Simon for advice on more to say, but the blonde is just motioning for him to go on, while North just mouths ‘idiot’ to him.

It’s as good as Connor is going to get from the two of them, and he works with what he’s got: “I’ve been an idiot, and… I kind of miss you.” He’d cringe if it wasn’t so true it hurts. “So, um… yeah. Talk to you soon, hopefully.”

Admittedly, he feels much better after letting it all out.

But now the wait is killing him.

“Connor, you said it yourself, it’s the middle of the night.” North tries to calm him down, “There’s no way he’ll hear it before morning. You’re tired, physically and emotionally, and it’s raining cats and dogs outside. Let’s just get you in warm pjs and into bed for another sleepover, yeah? I’m sure he will call you back in the morning.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

North and Simon share a look as they get the laptop set up for a movie.

“Trust me, he will.” Simon assures, “Even if just to get closure for the both of you.”

He leaves Connor’s room briefly for the kitchen and comes back with ice cream for all of them only to be subjected to an inquisitive stare from his friends.

“You sound entirely too sure.” Connor says, eyes just slightly narrowed. “Like you’re speaking from experience.”

Simon knew Connor would find out eventually, so he just shrugs, much to North’s surprise. He had already mentioned having a teenage crush on Markus, might as well get the full story out:

“I kind of tried to kiss him once, when I was 15.”

“What?!”

North’s half laugh and half shout makes the blonde flinch, but he keeps going: “Hey he was already hot and I had just hit puberty, what do you want me to say?”

Connor can very much relate. “Fair. What then?”

“Well… at first he just politely shook me off, excused himself to my brother and just freaking left without another word…” which was a stupid move, considering a scorned teenage boy could have said just about anything and easily ruined a 22 year old man’s life. Markus was just lucky Simon wasn’t that kind of boy. “But the next time he was over, he sat me down and explained to me that while he did very much care for me, he didn’t feel that way about me and that I’d be better off with someone my own age, who would like the same things I did and have the same experiences I’d have.”

That means Markus already felt bad about something as out of his control as simply being 7 years older than Connor, before they even kissed the first time. The idiot has been hiding his own discomfort from day one.

“Jesus, Simon…”

Before they know it, they’re all eating ice cream in bed and watching an animated movie while grilling Simon for stories about Markus –the blonde reveals that even before getting so rich Markus had this habit of always wanting to make people happy, he always had a gift for him whenever Daniel had him over, be it even just an envelope of colored stickers, and was generally just as much of a sap in youth as he is now.

They’re a little over half an hour into the movie when they hear knocking at the door.

None of them is expecting any guests, and no one in their right mind would even think of going around campus knocking on random doors…

…Connor gets a sneaky suspicion and all but tumbles out of bed to go open the door.

“Hi.” Markus is as beautiful as ever, even soaked as he is and in his light grey t-shirt and black sweatpants –wait _what?_

Yes, even on a second, more thorough look, Markus looks like he just rolled out of bed, threw on a pair of shoes and headed out in the rain to come here. A distant portion of his mind appreciates what the soaked-through t-shirt does for Markus’ physique, but what actually comes out of Connor’s mouth is: “I… thought your car was still getting serviced…”

“I took the bus.” Markus just smiles sheepishly and shrugs one shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep, and then I found your message, so, uh…”

“Don’t mind us; we were just leaving for a nice walk!”

Simon briefly pops out of Connor’s room dragging North away with him.

“A walk? Simon, are you nuts? It’s pissing rain!”

“Then it’ll be a _short_ walk. To _your_ room.” The blonde specifies, still dragging her out, “Later, guys! Looking good, Mark!”

Connor is already covering his face with both hands by the time North and Simon are out of his room. Then he realizes he’s wearing baggy, fuzzy lilac pjs while Markus is standing in front of him like he just won a wet t-shirt contest.

“Oh, for— at least we’ll be able to do this without the Peanut Gallery.” He mutters to himself, looking back up to Markus. He doesn’t even wonder how the other got in –it’s not like student accommodations are that heavily guarded. “Come in… let’s get you dried off.”

If it’s true that you don’t realize how much you love something until you start to miss it, it’s also true that you sometimes don’t realize how much you’ve missed something until it comes back.

Helping Markus out of his clothes is something Connor dearly missed, for multiple reasons –including but not limited to the fact that he liked being the one person Markus lets himself be completely vulnerable around.

He has to stop himself from running his hands all over the other’s chest as he helps him peel the t-shirt off his skin and over his head –considering their current situation, it doesn’t feel appropriate yet. Then Markus’ hands go to the waistband of his pants, and Connor all but shoots into his room to find something Markus can wear while they put his clothes in the dryer.

They spend the few minutes Markus takes to towel off and wear the borrowed band t-shirt and tracksuit bottoms in silence, but eventually Markus speaks first:

“You never told me you’re a metalhead.”

There’s a tentative smile on his face that is a breaking point of sorts for Connor: if they’re going to make this work, this shit needs to stop. Diverting the conversation into things that are ‘safe’ and pretending only Connor’s answers matter. He motions for Markus to sit side by side with him on those ugly, yellow kitchen chairs.

“You never told me many things.” He says, instead of going into a rant about the Knights of the Black Death and why Markus should totally listen to them. They need to stay on topic, at least this once. “I had to find out from Elijah that your father had passed away. What kind of boyfriend doesn’t know that about their significant other?”

“I guess we both did a shit job the first time around.” Markus’ smile falls, as does his gaze. He keeps it trained on his hand, where it’s playing with a scuffed portion of the table’s edge. “But I should have known better. I should have listened more—”

“And I should have sacked up and faced my stupid fears!” Connor interrupts, “I’m sorry, Markus, I spent so much time trying to tell myself that it didn’t matter to me whether you were showering me with gifts or not that I started to resent the fact that I even had to think about it in the first place. I made you feel like your feelings didn’t matter because they came with a price tag, and that was a gigantic dick move.”

Finally, Markus looks back up at him. He also missed those eyes. “Still. This is not solely on you. I shouldn’t have been so oblivious to your discomfort.” Slowly, so very slowly, the hand that Markus was resting on the table inches forwards, towards Connor’s. “I took for granted that you would be ok with such a drastic change in lifestyle, that I was doing _good_ and getting you what you _needed_ that I didn’t stop to think about what you _wanted_.”

North was right all along, this is a hilariously bad case of miscommunication.

Damn it, she will be smug for weeks.

A thought crosses his mind that makes Connor chuckle a little bit: “We should at least compensate you for the slashed tires.”

“Are you kidding? That happening is actually what got me thinking about my own misgivings, I’m thinking of buying your friend a present, instead!” Markus says, and, wow, finally a small laugh –yes, that’s something Connor missed dearly as well. “Do you think she likes Bulgari?”

Connor can’t tell whether Markus is joking or not, but for some reason that’s precisely what makes him burst out laughing –either option is so unequivocally _Markus_ that it wouldn’t surprise him either way.

When he finally calms down, Markus is staring at him. “…What?”

“I almost forgot how beautiful you are when you laugh.”

“You’re making it really hard for me to stay mad right now.” Connor looks at him with a small pout, before deflating slightly, looking down at their hands resting on the table’s side, inches from touching. “How did we make such a mess of things?”

“We both thought we knew better than each other, while in reality neither of us knew _shit_.”

Harsh, but true. Connor shakes his head to himself and finally reaches out the rest of the way to lace his finger with Markus’. “Do you think we could… start over?”

Markus closes his eyes with a shaky breath, holding onto Connor’s fingers like he’s afraid they’re going to disappear, before looking at the other again, with just a hint of mischief. “Do I still get a pass to pamper you every once in a while?”

Connor mock-glares at him and tugs their joined hands towards himself, forcing Markus to get out of his chair and hop forward, straddling his lap.

“Within reasonable limits.” He says, breathing in the smell of rain still clinging to Markus’ skin and barely resisting the urge to kiss him –it’s been _weeks_.

“Define ‘reasonable’.” Markus hesitates for a second, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to touch him again, but eventually his hands find the nape of Connor’s neck and the world feels right again.

Connor smiles against his lips. “Anything I don’t say ‘no’ to goes, as long as I also get a kiss to remind me how much you love me.”

They kiss as if they’d never kissed before. For a moment, Connor can almost hear the song Markus played for him on the piano –it seems like forever ago.

“Or I could just tell you.” Markus whispers, tilting his head to start leaving little kisses down Connor’s jaw and neck.

He shivers under the other’s lips, still cold from the rain as they are. “You could.”

“I love you.” Markus breathes it against his skin and Connor can’t remember anything in his life that ever felt this good. “I’ve loved you for a while now and was too much of a scaredy-cat to tell you.”

Connor grabs the other at the shoulders, drags his hands up Markus’ neck until he can cup the sides of his face and trace his scarred eyebrow with a thumb. “I love you too.” He says it back earnestly, and it feels like a weight off his shoulders, “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long but was too scared you wouldn’t believe me. I was scared you’d think I only loved you for the things you do. It’s so stupid.”

Markus shakes his head, and then turns to kiss the palm of Connor’s hand. “Loving someone is never stupid.”

How has he _ever_ thought this man could willfully hurt him? Connor closes his eyes. “I love you, Markus.”

“Say that again…”

The plea makes him giggle slightly –Markus is making good on his words of actually including his own wants and needs right away, apparently. He’s all too happy to oblige.

“I love you, Markus.”

Markus just kisses him again like neither of them will get up from that chair any time soon.

 

The next morning, Simon comes home to a post-it note attached to one of their butt-ugly kitchen chairs.

_\--You might want to sanitize this one before using it._

Already knowing the culprit, the blonde just shakes his head and goes for the coffee maker, pleasantly surprised when he finds if almost full of warm coffee.

Unmistakably, another post-it sits in the immediate vicinity.

_\--As an apology for both kicking you out of your room and desecrating your kitchen chairs._

Well.

At least he knows for certain Markus is still a gentleman. Sort of.

He opens a video call with North. “Hey. Coast is clear; I think our lovebirds made peace.”

_«_ _Is Connor awake?_ _»_

“Oh, he will be in a moment.”

After all, Simon still got kicked out of his room for the night. He silently creeps up to Connor’s door and tries to open it with minimal squeaking, offering North a good view of the indistinct lump of blankets.

He takes a breath and lets out a shout.

“ _Wake up, sleepy head!!!_ ”

Predictably, Connor jumps out of his skin and mutters unintelligible curses, already making both Simon and North laugh, but less than a second later a very sleepy and _very_ naked Markus sits up from where he was resting at Connor’s side, rubbing sleep out of his scarred eye and asking “The fuck, man?”

Well, oops.

Simon hightails it out the door before Connor can throw things at him.

This is their life now, apparently.

 

Markus turns out to be a much better boyfriend than he ever was a ‘sugar daddy’ –not that he _ever_ was one, thank you very much. He still takes Connor out for expensive dinners and buys him gifts, but he also whines about movie choices and asks to go for walks in the park when it’s sunny enough to.

He leaves cheesy post-it notes everywhere and sends Connor shirtless selfies when he’s supposed to be studying, he does a whole lot of things that drive Connor absolutely crazy in the best of ways; and most of those are things that all the money in the world couldn’t buy.

He even talks with Connor about the future— however far and scary that is. He asks what Connor’s plans are, he says that they don’t have to move in together after Connor graduates if he’s not ready to, but he hints that he would like for that to happen.

Connor takes Markus’ hand in his, and kisses his knuckles one by one as they lie together under Markus’ fancy silk sheets.

“I’ll think about it.” He says, smiling as the sensation of finally belonging somewhere sinks in: it’s not the king-sized mattress or the silk bedsheet that make him feel so content and safe. It’s the feeling of Markus’ arms around him, whether they’re in a luxurious mansion or a crappy university dorm room it doesn’t matter. “We will figure something out… together.”

Markus hums in approval, and turns just enough to place a kiss at Connor’s temple. “Breakfast in bed?”

Connor can feel his smile widen. “Thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

It’s incredible that on top of everything Markus is also a rather good cook…

…but hey, Connor did say he wouldn’t refuse being pampered at least a little bit by his gorgeous, considerate boyfriend.

After all, expensive things and fancy events come and go, but some things just can’t be bought.

The bedroom door opens again to Markus carrying a tray of delicious-smelling food, smiling warmly at him and still as naked as the day he was born; and Connor licks his lips.

Definitely, he wouldn’t give this up for all the goddamn money in the world.


End file.
